


Little Red Riding Hood

by KagayaDaydreams



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fairy Tale Elements, Found Family, M/M, Mutual Pining, Mystery, Slow Burn, Vigilantism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-06-06 11:06:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15193427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KagayaDaydreams/pseuds/KagayaDaydreams
Summary: "You're with them? The vigilantes?" A red cloak dangles from Shiro's hand and Keith freezes."It's not that simple," Keith feels like he's losing a lifeline, but can't do anything to stop it, "You know that."Takashi Shirogane, the youngest Chief Photographer in the history of his local news station, has seen it all. Two years into job, he's worried that the only thing he has to look forward to is retirement. However, when a local myth makes an unexpected appearance, Shiro finds himself pulled into a world that can't be captured through a lens.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've always loved fairy-tale elements/ motifs in stories, so I wanted to try to explore the concept myself! This is a "modern AU".

By the time Shiro graduated from college, he was ready to relax for the rest of his life. The day of his graduation ceremony was a blur, but he remembers being incredibly hungover on a stranger’s couch the next morning. The next few months consisted of getting settled into a job offer at his local news station as the new Chief Photographer. In all honesty, he never thought that _this_ is where his degree in filmmaking would lead him, but he’s not complaining. It pays _very_ well. So well in fact that within the first year he moved into a nice apartment complex within walking distance of his job.

Shiro’s now two years into shooting interviews, chasing storms, and traveling across the country to make press events for Galaxy News 11. Monotony has become the norm. The stories may change, but the procedures to get them on air doesn't. Although he’s still considered a rookie himself, there’s been a steady stream of younger interns who are more than a little incompetent. But what they lack in skill they make up for in enthusiasm.  Luckily, Allura and Hunk (his best friends since college and middle school, respectively) keep him relatively sane. Despite his busy schedule, they force him to drink the night away on Saturday and sleep it off on Sunday.

Only two days until Saturday...

“ _Shirogane!_ ”

Shiro blinks back into reality and peers over his desktop screen at the angry voice in his office. His eyes flicker to the clock on his screen, only 11:15am. Before he could respond, Iverson shoves a flash drive in his face. 

“Shirogane, what is this?”

 Iverson is older than him. _Much_ older than him. By at least twenty years, if Shiro’s not mistaken. He’s been working here longer than some of the younger interns have been alive. Shouldn’t he recognize a flash drive?

“That’s a flash drive, sir.” Shiro answered puzzled.

Shiro could practically see Iverson’s blood pressure rising, “Shirogane, I know _what_ this is. I’m asking if you know...WHAT. IS. ON. IT.”

“Oh. I don’t, sir.”

 “It’s the raw footage of the city council story that should have been edited _yesterday._ It’s supposed to air--” 

 _Don’t say at noon,_ Shiro pleads inwardly. 

“--at 12:30 and it hasn’t been so much as looked at! We’ve already run the previews for the segment yesterday evening and it’s supposed to be the first of three installments. I don’t know how this ended up in the hallway, but I don’t care. I want it uploaded to our servers by 12:15 so I can review it!” Iverson drops the flash drive on the desk and heads for the door.

“Wait, sir! Wouldn’t it be better to postpone--”

Iverson pauses, but doesn't look back as he walks away, “This isn’t Hollywood, I’m not asking for a goddamn cinematic masterpiece. Get your head outta the clouds and _handle it._ You’re Chief Photographer for a reason.”

 Shiro fishes the flash drive out of the pile of cords and crumpled paper. His desk usually isn’t this messy, but with the increase in work lately, it’s becoming more difficult to find anything smaller than a stapler. He plugs it into the hard drive under his desk and waits for it to be recognized. After clicking on the video file, Shiro knows that he won’t finish in time. The entire video is about an hour long, but he’s supposed to condense it to about 10 minutes. He sits back in his chair for a few minutes and runs a hand through his hair.

 Come to think of it, Shiro’s pretty sure that he assigned this project to an intern. Though they’re lucky that he can’t remember which one he gave it to.

 God, he needs a miracle.

 _Miracle_ …

Shiro locates his phone, quickly dials a lifeline and hopes that he picks up in time.

 “Shiro, hey! Aren’t you working right now?”

“Hunk! Buddy, I need a huge favor. Where are you right now?” Shiro opens a video editor and starts importing the massive file.

“I’m near the main studio setting up for this afternoon. Apparently we got some new teleprompters for our meteorologists and I’m running test texts. Haha! Text tests...try saying _that_ five times fast!” Hunk tries it himself, successfully. “But what’s wrong?”

“Iverson gave me an impossible task to finish by the noon block. I need your career-saving editing skills if you can offer them.”

Hunk grinned on the other end, “I’ll leave the teleprompters to an intern. Give me a few minutes and I’ll be there.”

Shiro sighs the biggest breath of relief and Hunk laughs, “Thank you, Hunk. Really.”

“Don’t thank me yet, I don’t know what’s waiting for me.”

.

The end result can only be described as ‘decent’. Neither of them are one hundred percent about it, but it’s good enough to be aired. Hunk is face down on the floor of Shiro’s office, head swimming with hours worth of work crammed into a half hour. Shiro’s barely holding on as well and can't relax until he shares it with Iverson.

 “Done.” Shiro mutters and slams his head onto the keyboard. He perks up at the sound of a notification from his email. It’s from Iverson.

* * *

  _Re: City Council Seg pt. 1 of 3_

  _Shirogane,_

  _Thank you for sending this in a timely matter. However, because of breaking news that we’ve just received, we won’t run it until next week. Be grateful. And don’t let it happen again._

- _Iverson_

* * *

Shiro stares passively at the email, silently grabs his phone and his wallet, and turns off his computer. He checks his to-do-list, which is empty until the evening news block. Hunk grunts and flips himself over, choosing to stare quietly at the ceiling. Shiro joins him.

Hunk doesn’t move, but his eyes look over in Shiro’s direction, “Did you get a reply from Iverson already?”

“Yep.”

“What’d he say?”

Shiro sighs, “You won’t believe it.”

“He hates it?”

“Nope.”

“He wants you to do it over again?”

“Worse.”

“Worse than _that_?” Hunk hums in thought, “They’re not gonna air it today, are they?”

“Bullseye.”

“Huh. That sucks. But hey! At least it’s done.”

“No thanks to whoever I assigned it to originally.” Shiro frowns, “I’m gonna have to schedule more training sessions with them.”

“They’re a very intelligent bunch. It takes time.”

“I know, I know. But when they mess up, which is often, _I_ have to take the heat. Iverson barely acknowledges that they’re even here most of the time, it’s just me.” Shiro sits up and peers down at Hunk, “You should have this job.”

Hunks launches into such an intense laughing fit, it starts to annoy Shiro. Not that he’d be able to do anything to physically stop it. In situations like these, it’s best to wait it out. He checks the time on his phone while he’s waiting for Hunk to come back to his senses. It’s about time for the “breaking news” segment to air, so he checks the livestream on his phone.

The ticker tape reads: _AFTER A DECADE OF DORMANCY, ‘FABLES’ SPOTED ONCE AGAIN_

 _This_ is the story they decided to air instead of an update on their municipal government?

Shiro frowns at the blatant misspelling of ‘spotted’. As innocuous as the mistake is, it still looks unprofessional. He ignores the instinct to correct the problem in favor of watching the story instead. Two of the four veteran news anchors are present. Their clothes are pressed to perfection, smiles dazzling, but Shiro notices that they look a tad bewildered. He missed the introduction, though someone will probably fill him in later if he asks. It didn’t last very long, mostly because it’s a developing story. The takeaway that Shiro got from it, is that the streets were about to get more dangerous at night. At the moment, there’s only one confirmed member of the Fables and he goes by ‘Robin Hood’.

“Fables, huh? Are they superheroes or something?” Hunk asked, squinting at the grainy video film of the person in question. “That’s a really bad security camera.”

“They called them vigilantes...but that’s not always a good thing.” Shiro stands and helps Hunk to his feet. “Ready for lunch? My treat.”

“Definitely. There’s a new bakery, if you don’t mind. I heard that they have very good cake.”

“Can my wallet survive your sweet tooth?”

Hunk grinned, “Speak for yourself, your sweet tooth is worse than mine.”

“Fair enough.” As they head closer to the door, Hunk and Shiro can hear Iverson’s voice booming down the hallway. “We should probably hurry before Iverson finds something else for us to do.”

.

The rest of the day is pretty slow, but the story on everyone’s lips are the reappearance of the famous (or infamous, according to Iverson) Fables. The nightly news provides more background on them, but to Shiro, it seems like they’re not telling the whole story. Which is nothing new. He’s edited numerous videos to the liking of his superiors that didn’t quite sit well with him.

“Camera B, can we make the picture less saturated?” Shiro says into a headset. He stands resolute in a room with television screens lined up along a wall. The screens are the only source of light, except for the massive red sign in the back the reads ‘ON AIR’. With his arms folded across his chest, coupled with his height, he looks like the embodiment of a commander. “Screen 3, standby for commercial. Make sure the TriCaster isn’t overheating, we have a lot of video clips to queue before we’re back in the main room. ”

The station manager sidles up beside Shiro and hands him a letter, “Mr. Shirogane, we’ve received word of a live feed from one of our correspondents. It’s another update on the vigilantes. Our producer wants to go ahead and run it after the commercial break ends.”

“Another one? The next block is reserved for entertainment, we won’t have time to run all of our stories for tonight.” Shiro scans the letter. “Unless we’re putting criminals in the entertainment section now?”

“This isn’t a suggestion, sir. I’m telling you.”

“Of course.”

“And people have been calling in asking for more information about these people. It’s the first time in a while since our viewers are actively engaging with the content we provide. Our job is to satisfy their hunger with the truth.” The station manager clutched her clipboard to her chest and gave him a pointed look, “Movies aren’t the only way to provide people with a sense of excitement, sir.”

“...I see,” Shiro didn’t know if that was a dig at his degree or genuine observation, but given Iverson’s comment earlier, it was probably the former.

The station manager smirked, “Things are about to get _very_ interesting around here.”

“What do you mean by--”

“WE ARE BACK ON THE AIR IN 30 SECONDS!” An intern cries across from the back of the room.

“Shit.” Shiro readjusts his headset, looks at his new shortlist, and switches audio channels to alert their main broadcast technician about the change, “This is gonna be a long night.”

.

Even though it’s the middle of summer, Shiro welcomes the nightly humidity. It’s much cooler than a room full of machines running for hours on end. Even with the sidewalk flooded with people enjoying the Friday nightlife, it’s less suffocating. Unfortunately, this also means it’ll take him longer than his usual 20 minutes to get home. He politely declines the tipsy invitations from strangers sitting outside bars. Though one person offered to buy him a meal instead of a drink and Shiro was _very_ tempted, but ultimately declined with a laugh.

As tired as Shiro was, it would benefit him to eat before he turned in for the night. A quick bite if not a meal. He checks the time on his phone. It’s a little past eleven, so he makes a complete 180 toward a crepe restaurant he regularly frequents. It’s located in the lower half of a two-story building, the upper part's an old record store. Next to it is a club that the local college students go to throughout the week. On the inside, there’s barely any standing room.

It's not because of the overwhelming amount of people, but the place is so _tiny_. Most of the space belonged to the register and the “kitchen”, which consisted of two large hotplates and various ingredients around it. Luckily there are only two other people in line. Any more than five people (not counting the two employees behind the counter) and Shiro would have to wait outside the door until someone left.

The terrifyingly large menu would make any first-timer panic, but Shiro's a  veteran. Him and Hunk each had their own top ten favorite crepes, categorized by sweet or savory ingredients. The person in front of him however was a different story. His brows furrowed in frustration and there was a clear frown, but he said nothing. Shiro has a few inches on him, but the guy’s height and build makes him look like a college student. But you can never be sure in this day and age. Shiro finds it odd that he’s wearing black zip up hoodie, even though it’s definitely the middle of June.

“First time here?” Shiro asks good-naturedly.

The boy inclines his head toward Shiro and then back at the menu, “Is it that obvious?”

“Most people don’t look at the menu if they’ve been here before.”

“Huh. It’s for my little sister though, not me.” He pales, “And she has weird taste in food.”

“Weird? How so?”

“She’ll get these weird cravings where she wants impossible combinations. She sent me down here to find a crepe that’s ‘sweet but disgustingly greasy’. Which I don’t think exists.” He squints at the menu once more, “According to this I can only choose between sweet or savory. Not both.”

Shiro stays silent as the guy continues to mutter to himself. It was a very amusing dilemma, one that he couldn’t help but smile at. Shiro didn’t have siblings himself, but he’s heard horror stories over the years. This sounded like the opposite of a horror story, and Shiro was happy to offer a solution.

“What’s so funny?”

Shiro didn’t realize he’d zoned out, “Ah. Nothing. Just...you’re a good big brother.”

The stranger turned fully to Shiro and he was taken aback by his deep blue (maybe violet?) eyes. His black hair peeked out from under the hood. He smiled a little, “Thanks. She does a lot for me, so…” his face fell, “I’m trying to do the same.”

His words sink into Shiro’s heart deeper than intended, but Shiro tried to lighten the mood, “I have an idea! For the crepe, I mean. It’s a limited menu item so not a lot of people know about it. But it’s pretty good.”

“What is it?”

“A bacon Nutella crepe.” Shiro offers resolutely, “Trust me when I say that it’ll take the place of an entire meal.”

“That sounds disgusting.” His words contradict his intrigued expression, “But she’d definitely like it.”

“I like it.” Shiro shrugged, “But I recommend adding strawberries to it so you can counter--”

“Next in line please.” The tired employee calls from behind the register, interrupting their conversation. Neither of them had realized how empty the room was, and how close they’d gravitated to each other. The stranger gave one more look at Shiro then ordered the monstrosity. Shiro on the other hand, ordered something lighter, but with more ingredients. It would take a while to make, but he’s off the clock for the entire weekend and could wait as long as he needed.

The boy immediately took a picture of the crepe when it was done. Probably for his sister, Shiro guessed. He shows Shiro the text.

_UR A GENIUS THAT LOOKS SO. GOOD!!  HURRY B4 IT GETS COLD! >:( _

“She says you’re a genius. That’s new, she usually doesn’t use that word as compliment. Consider yourself special.” The stranger smiles and pockets his phone.

“Shiro. I go by Shiro.”

“You _go by_? That sounds mysterious.”

Shiro laughs a little, “Takashi Shirogane. But most people call me ‘Shiro’. And you are?”

“Keith.”

“Keith.” Shiro repeats, a habit from working at the station. “It was nice to meet you.”

He extends his hand and Keith meets it in the middle. Shiro thinks about how perfectly Keith’s hand feels in his, how warm it is, how he’d like to lace his fingers with his. Keith’s fingers hover for a little while when Shiro retracts his hand.

_Oh._

Shiro probably imagined the blush on Keith’s cheeks.

“Likewise," Keith ducks his head and turns away.

_Or not._

Keith leaves before Shiro does, and Shiro waits ten minutes before he gets his food. He uses both the waiting time and the time it takes to get home to replay the short exchange over in his mind. Is it normal for a person to feel so attracted to stranger in a crepe shop? If he’d been bolder, he would have asked for his number. But it didn’t seem like the right time to do it. His crepe doesn’t make it to his apartment, and he throws the wrapper away in the trash can outside the elevator. Shiro fishes his keys out of his satchel and unlocks the door. He trudges into his bedroom and pulls out his phone to text Hunk and Allura.

 _[Shiro]: Guys, I have a problem. We’re discussing over drinks_ _tomorrow._

He places his phone on the nightstand and rolls off the bed toward his bathroom. He hears a flurry of notification vibrations, but he ignores it in favor of taking a long shower. He’ll answer them in the morning. Tonight, Shiro wants nothing more than to shower and go straight to bed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, thank you for all of the lovely comments and overall positive reception. I wasn't expecting it and it made my heart soar! I actually had to break this chapter into two, but it shouldn't affect the flow of the story.

Bars on a Friday night are _nothing_ like Saturday nights. There are more adults than college students. Shiro, Hunk, and Allura decided long ago that sports bars were a safer bet than going to a club with a bar. Mostly because, unlike clubs, sports bars had _amazing_ appetizers that could be split between three people. With some difficulty, they secure a booth covered in leftover cups from previous occupants. A waitress squeezes her way through the crowd and swiped up the mess, then disappeared once more. With the table clear, they're ready to get down to business.

Hunk relaxes into the maroon cushion, “I don’t know what I’d do if we didn’t have weekends off. Seven whole days in suits and button downs would kill me in this heat.”

Shiro slides in the seat across from Hunk, “It’s not even July and we’ve been in the nineties for two weeks straight.”

“You’re telling _me_ ,” Allura sits next to Hunk and swipes stray hairs back into her bun, “I’ve had to _walk_ around the entirety of Galaxy City canvassing with my father for the upcoming election.”

Hunk and Shiro wince in sympathy.

“Okay.” Allura said to get the other two’s attention. “What we get for our first round depends both on what your dilemma is Shiro and our schedules for Sunday. I have to help my father with his mayoral campaign, but that’s not until late evening. So whatever hangover I get, it’ll be gone by the afternoon.”

“I’m free until Monday.” Hunk grinned.

“Same here.” Shiro replied.

“Good, then we’re gonna start with something strong. Second question. What’s the problem Shiro?” Allura places her head atop her laced fingers and leans forward in anticipation.

Shiro scoots backwards and scratches his head, he can’t bring himself to look anyone in the eye. So instead, he focuses on a wet spot on the table. “It’s uh-- yesterday--well”

“Shiro, you shouldn’t be stammering this much with zero alcohol in your system,” Hunk says with a worried frown.

Shiro runs an exasperated hand through his hair, “I know, it’s just… I met someone--”

“A _romantic_ encounter?” Allura interrupts. She elbows Hunk who looks betrayed, “Did you hear that Hunk?”

“Shiro!” Hunk pouts as he takes a ten-dollar bill out of his wallet and slides it to Allura, “I was sure the problem was gonna be work related!”

“Tequila shots are three dollars tonight! Thank you Mr. Garrett for funding our first round.” Allura gets up from the table and heads toward the bar, holding the bill over her head in triumph.

Shiro hasn’t fully explained himself yet, but he feels like he’s gonna come to regret it somehow. Hunk levels him a curious stare that borders on concern. Though he doesn’t ask about it. Instead, he quickly whispers, “You didn’t fall in love with one of our interns did you? Probably not. But if you _did_ that’s technically work related and I can technically get my money back.”

Shiro blanches at the idea, “It’s not an intern. Wait...why are you two betting on this in the first place? And ten dollars at that?”

Hunk sits up straight and tells Shiro with the utmost seriousness, “Shiro. Allura and I have a long-standing tradition on betting on things you do. We’ve been doing it for years. This isn’t even the most expensive bet on record. But man, I wanted to win that one. Now she’s ahead of me by four bets.”

“Four b-- why are you telling me _now_?”

Hunk shrugs, “We’re all adults here. And I don’t think I can get the upper hand at this point, so you might as well know. Don’t tell Allura.”

Allura returns with three shot glasses filled with an amber liquid and a single dollar, which she graciously gives to Hunk. They each take their glasses, clink them together, and then knock it back. Per usual, Allura's unaffected by small doses of strong alcohol, Hunk a little less so, but Shiro _hates_ it.

“Ugh. This stuff is _acid_.” Shiro wrinkles his nose and places the shot glass upside down.

“It gets the job done, though.” Hunk says. "Most people aiming to get drunk don't drink for taste."

"Yeah, but it just leaves a bad taste in my mouth."

“Oh! That reminds me. Your station’s covering the developing ‘Fable’ story, right?” Allura asks spiritedly. “Learned anything good yet?”

The two men groan.

Hunk speaks first, “It’s all anyone at the station can talk about. But it’s more speculation than actual proof.”

Shiro follows up with, “I _know_ I’m gonna be saddled with most of the work. Especially if law enforcement manages to catch them somehow.”

“So they’re criminals?”

“Vigilantes. At least what the police called them in the press release.” Hunk pulls out his phone and goes through his notes, “So far, we know for sure they’re a group that’s been around for at least 50 years, but for the last decade they’ve been off the radar. No one knows anything about them outside of the organization name and that they have one confirmed member named Robin Hood. There are also no public records about them either. We also don’t know their motives.”

“It’s not much of story if you ask me.” Shiro sighs. “There’s a lot we don’t know.”

Allura processes this information in silence, “It could go south really quickly if the public’s left to speculate for too long. I could ask my father about it. If there are no _public_ records, then maybe I could find them in the city archives.”

Hunk brightens up, “You can do that?”

“ _Maybe_. My father’s been working for the local government since I was little. So I’m sure he has some pull somewhere. But I’m surprised that I’ve never heard of them before.”

“Hunk and I aren’t from here, so we don’t get what’s got the city so excited. Or terrified. It’s hard to gauge.”

The three delved a bit more into the Fables story, providing their own wild speculations. Allura's convinced that they were an underground mafia that killed people who knew that they even existed. That’s why there were no record of them, because they systematically destroyed anyone with credible evidence. Additionally, they control the local government and pay them massive amounts of hush money to keep them out of the public eye. Of course, this is a worst-case scenario situation, not to be taken seriously in their drunken stupor. After a few more drinks, two plates of curly fries, and an hour’s worth of stories, Allura did an impromptu drum roll.

“Alright, enough about work, time for the main event! Shiro’s _romantic_ encounter!” Allura announced, louder than she probably should have, but her voice just blended into the crowd of others.

“Oh right! I’ve been waiting for this all night.” Hunk slammed his beer bottle on the table. “The floor is yours, buddy. Take it away!”

Shiro’s cheeks were already reddish from the alcohol, but it darkened even more when he realized all the attention was on him. He finished off his vodka cranberry and took a moment to steel his nerves. “Okay. Technically it wasn’t really a romantic situation. Seriously.”

Allura scoffed, “But _you_ thought it was romantic. So continue. What happened?”

“After work, I was hungry so went to that crepe shop you and I always go to, Hunk.”

“Good choice. Good choice.”

“And there was this guy in front of me who didn’t know what to get for his little sister. His _sister_ ! How cute is that?” Shiro slumped forward and put his head on the table. “And the _guy_ was cute too. He didn’t smile much, but when he did? I was a goner. And while we were talking, we moved closer, and his eyes were _violet._ ”

“Ooooo, Shiro’s a sappy drunk now,” Allura accused, not that she was any less drunk than he, “Did you get his _number_?”

Shiro sighs, “No…”

“His name?” Hunk asked.

“Keith.”

“Keith what?” Allura asked, pulling out her phone. “Maybe we can track him down via social media.”

“Just Keith. I didn’t ask for his last name because I was busy combusting internally.”

“Shoot. This is a big city too, you _actually_ might not meet him again.” Hunk said absently.

Shiro groaned and covered his face with his hands. “He called me mysterious, with a _smirk_. I swear I’m the opposite.”

“ _Oh. We know_.” Allura and Hunk said in unison.

“When it comes to attraction, you’re a mess.” Allura said pointedly.

Hunk eyes glint mischievously, “Oh! Oh! Allura, you have _no idea_ what happened in middle school. A week before Valentine’s day we got assigned an to write--”

“HUNK,” Shiro warns. “DON’T.”

“C’mon, Shiro it’s been at least a decade since it happened,” Hunk reasoned. “It’s not even that bad.”

_"To you.”_

Allura tapped a hand on the table, “Here’s a compromise, give me an extremely condensed version and I promise I won’t laugh at anything.”

Shiro looked between the two and gave a reluctant nod. It was definitely a challenge to shorten what would have been a fifteen minute story into a single paragraph. Hunk sat in contemplative silence, alternating between sipping his beer and humming. Shiro remembers that Valentine’s Day poetry assignment all too well, even though he wants nothing more than to forget. After studying some of Shakespeare’s love-centric sonnets, their teacher assigned them to write one by February 14th and turn it in. Shiro was not a poet. He would have turned in something half-hearted had the teacher not mentioned that she would read every single one of them out loud. Instead of writing one sonnet, he somehow ended up penning eight love letters...and zero sonnets. He turned in the least embarrassing one and hid the others.

“I’ve got it!” Hunk said triumphantly, “Long story short. We were supposed to write a sonnet for Valentine’s Day, but Shiro got nervous and wrote a love letter instead. The teacher read it out loud anyway and it caused a lot of...hostility between some of our classmates because they thought it was for them,” Hunk looked over at Shiro, who decided a neutral expression would be best, “Um...long story short...love letters were banned until Shiro and I started high school.”

Allura gave no outward reaction. She politely excused herself to the bathroom, but as she walked away, Shiro could see her back trembling with laughter. Hunk did nothing to hide his amusement.

Shiro sighs. “The worst part is, I didn’t write them with anyone in mind, I swear.”

“You don’t get crushes easily. Since I’ve known you, you’ve showed romantic interest in _maybe_ one other person. And I think that was back in high school? But when you fall, you fall hard, man.”

Shiro’s voice is quiet, “I really wanna see him again, Hunk. I don’t know why,”

“He left an impression,” Hunk answers resolutely, “You should go for it if you see him again. It’s normal to see someone and they take your breath away. But don’t wait too long, sometimes it’s better to live in the moment, then let it go. It’s better than moping about what could have been.”

“It feels like a punch in the heart now, but it’ll pass!” Allura supplies sliding back into the booth, “But just know, we’re always here to support you. For anything.”

Shiro looks up at his friends. His drunk, slightly disheveled, wonderfully nosy friends. He couldn’t have asked for a better pair.

Shiro parts ways with his two friends and he starts his walk back to his apartment. Luckily, they spent some time sobering up, so he’s at least somewhat okay t get there on his own. Hunk offered to drop him off in his car, but Shiro wanted to walk off the buzz he had left. His phone buzzes in his pocket a few minutes after they leave the bar. His phone’s battery is close to dying, but he’ll make it home in time. Shiro replies to Allura’s message in the group chat.

_[Allura]: Make sure to txt when u get hm!_

_[Shiro]: I will._

_[Hunk]: kk_

Shiro didn’t like that he couldn’t see the stars, living in the city and all, but the neon lights around the buildings brought some comfort. Stars didn’t come in bright pink and green neon. Even the constellations paled in comparison to how bright some of the signs could be. The combined amount of light in the sky gave off such a strong radiance that Shiro’s sure that you could see the city from space. The news station was atop a small mountain on the outskirts, looking down on the city below it. On certain nights you could see the faint trail of the Milky Way galaxy and the stars clustered together.

He decides to take a different route home, to wear himself out by the time he gets there. It’s not everyday that he gets to see the world with his own pair of eyes. For the past few years, he’s stared at the world through a lense. The city’s so quiet right now. So peaceful. The pedestrian sidewalk on the overpass is still lit by soft orange streetlights. They're not like the ones near his apartment, which were replaced by bright white LED streetlights, which made anything it didn’t reach look pitch black.

As soon as he gets to the end of the overpass, that’s exactly what welcomes him. He’s a few blocks from the residential area. Shiro’s phone vibrates from his pocket and he fishes out without a second thought. Allura made it home safe and Hunk is a few traffic lights away from his. Shiro let them know that he took the scenic route and that he should be back at his apartment in less than ten minutes.

Shiro passes by an alleyway when he hears the unmistakable sound of a punch connecting with skin. Rationally, he knows that he shouldn’t get involved, because there’s no way of knowing the situation. But every instinct his telling him to turn around. To investigate. To help. _Something._ Shiro continues beyond the alleyway, if only to move out of sight. Unfortunately, the alleyway is out of the way of the streetlight, so it’s impossible to see anything.

So he listens. Closely.

The fighting continues, but it’s more than two people duking it out. No...there are more. At least four people, Shiro assesses. Is he correct? He doesn’t know, but it’s starting to get ugly.He rounds the corner, intending to disarm the situation, but it’s already too late.

His eyes are still adjusting, but there’s a lone person standing above three larger figures who are laid out on the ground. They're all on the verge of unconsciousness if they’re not already. The person has his back to Shiro, and in the low light, he wouldn’t notice if Shiro approached him. His body is tense, hands still in a defensive position. He’s smaller than Shiro, so he can subdue him if Shiro has to use force.

“Hey.” Shiro says calmly and places a steady hand on the person’s shoulder.

Shiro only feels a fleeting pain across his face before he’s out like a light.


	3. Chapter 3

“Shit.” Keith panics and presses a button on his earpiece, “Requesting cleanup. Lance?”

He doesn’t have time to look at the civilian he laid out in a dark alleyway, because the mission is still in progress. Until the his targets are properly subdued, nothing else matters. He flexes his hands a little and surveys the enemies on the ground. From what he can tell, they’re not going to move anytime soon. Which is great, because his hands were starting to get sore. Keith binds their hands and feet with zip ties anyway. Better safe than sorry.

The earpiece crackles to life and a hurried whisper comes through, “ _I’m still in the middle of object retrieval. The security system’s tricky_.”

“Ask Pidge to disarm it, our earpieces are connected to her frequency. Just switch the channels.” Keith drags the unconscious targets further into the alleyway, keeping them away from any light source.

“ _But don’t you like the feeling of accomplishment when you figure it out yourself?”_

“Stop messing around, I need help.” Keith looks around, relieved that no one else has passed by.

“ _Whoa. The loner Little Red asking me_ _for help? Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”_ Lance says and his feed immediately cuts out.

Keith sighs and moves toward the person on the floor and kneels beside them. A bruise is already forming around his cheek, right below the eye. He tentatively reaches out to touch the tender skin, wincing in sympathy. What made him try to intercept? People fighting in a dark area past midnight doesn’t usually attract good samaritans. Unless they were stupid and wanted to get hurt. Nonetheless, it wouldn’t do anyone any good if he left him here. Keith lightly slaps the person’s unhurt cheek to wake him up.

Nothing happens, which isn’t a good sign.

Upon further inspection, Keith recognizes the person on the ground, which is worse. It may be dark, but Keith isn’t blind, and he _definitely_ wouldn’t forget a jawline as sharp as--

“ _Shiro?_ ” Keith nearly screams, buries his face in hands and groans, “You’ve _gotta_ be kidding me. I have the _worst_ luck.”

Keith allows himself a solid five minutes of unabashed staring and processing in anguished silence before contacting Pidge. He switches channels and pages her in slight desperation, “Pidge? You there?”

“ _Yeah, I’m here. What’s up?_ ” Keith can hear a bag of something rustling in the background, “ _Oh. We’re almost out of the Carrot Cake chips._ ”

“I ran into the guy from the crepe shop, again.”

“ _Chocolate Nutella Strawberry Guy? Seriously?”_ Pidge launches out of her computer chair in excitement, “ _Did he impart more food wisdom?_ _Where is he?”_

“...unconscious.” Keith mutters sheepishly,  “He got caught in the cross-fire.”

 _“Whose crossfire?”_ Pidge doesn’t really wait for an answer, _“Dude, did you knock him out_ ? _Rude.”_

“It was an accident! An accident I don’t need the Fables to know about. Can you figure out where he lives so I can drop him off? He’s out cold and it would be bad if he woke up here.” Keith quickly eyes the bound people against the wall. Still motionless. He takes a steadying breath and carefully places Shiro’s head in his lap. The movement causes Shiro to groan and Keith freezes on the spot. He still doesn’t wake.

“ _Well, you are a Fable. Why don’t you wake your sleeping prince?”_ Pidge makes kissing sounds and Keith refrains from ripping out his earpiece.

“Pidge!”

“ _I’m kidding! But seriously, it would be better to just bring him back to the apartment.”_ Pidge answers bluntly. “ _The Fables don’t take lightly to member sightings_ . _The leaders are on edge, Keith. They’re not just going to let him go. We can--”_

“--keep him safe. You’re right.” Keith looks down at Shiro with quiet determination, “I won’t let him be a casualty.”

“ _Be careful. See you when you get home.”_ Pidge cuts out.

.

The unforgiving light of the sun brings Shiro out of his unconscious state. He instinctively flips over to his side and buries himself deeper under the covers. That’s his first mistake. The movement sends a sharp pain to his cheekbone and spreads to his skull. A hangover explains his splitting headache, but not the pain in his cheek. Shiro slowly sits up to massage his temples. He’s still wearing his shirt from yesterday. He pauses at the blanket covering him.

“This isn’t my bed.” Shiro murmurs absent-mindedly.

He looks around a room that’s certainly not his. Nothing is familiar. Shiro _knows_ that he didn’t go home with anybody last night...so where the hell is he? The questions buzzing in his head aggravates his headache. Wherever he is, he needs to find aspirin quickly.

There’s a quiet knock on an open door.

“Good morning.” Keith greets from the doorway. “I have water and an ice pack.”

He crosses to the bedside and sits on the edge of the bed. Shiro’s expression in nothing short of bewildered, but he remains quiet. Keith’s not sure what to make of that. Shiro accepts the water and Keith raises the ice pack to the bruised skin. Shiro winces, but he appreciates the numbing. Truth be told, he doesn’t want to ruin this moment. That’s not to say he isn’t chock _full_ of questions. Shiro has so many things he wants to ask that there’s no good place to begin. So he can only sit in silence. Watching. Shiro thought that Keith looked good in the dim lighting of the crepe shop, but in the morning sun he was _stunning_. His eyes were an unnatural violet, but only when the light hit them just right.

Keith frowns at the attention and gestures for Shiro to take the ice pack from him. He reluctantly does so. The palm of Keith’s hand is a little wet and he shakes it off. That’s when Shiro notices scars and abrasions around his knuckles. For a few minutes, they sit in silence. It’s not really awkward, but it’s not very amicable either.

“Um--” They say in unison.

“You first.” Shiro offers.

Keith shakes his head, “I just want to know what you remember. Help fill in the gaps.”

“Where am I?” Shiro asks scanning the room. “And why are you here?”

Keith rubs the back of his neck, “You’re...in my room,” he quickly adds, “What do you remember?”

“It’s murky. I know I was headed home from a bar...and tried to stop a street fight. Pretty sure I got knocked out.” Shiro laughs nervously, “Wasn’t the best idea, huh?”

“No, it wasn’t.” Keith replies bluntly. He hesitates before his next response, “I didn’t mean to hit you. Sorry.”

The ice pack slips out of Shiro’s hand and onto his lap. Keith’s quick to recover it, making sure nothing’s spilled out. Keith winces and expects the worst. Anger. Screaming. Maybe he’ll lunge at him. Keith tenses but keeps his eyes trained to his feet. The bed shakes a little, and Shiro doubles over with breathless...laughter.

Keith feels something that he can’t place, though it slowly melts into confusion.

“That was _you_? Man, you really pack a punch.” Shiro stops laughing briefly when his cheek starts to ache at the unnecessary strain. “Ow.” The return of a cold press is welcome. Shiro covers Keith’s hand with his and leans into it, giving the smaller man an appreciative smile. “Thank you.”

It’s weird. Keith’s line of work requires him to be wary of his surroundings during a mission. Even when he comes home, that mentality bleeds into his daily life. Yet, with a relative stranger in his bed, Keith’s oddly relaxed. Having his guard down so completely feels foreign. Vulnerable. It’s weird...but nice.

“You should definitely be angrier.”

Shiro snorts, “I would be if you’d left me back there, but you took responsibility and I appreciate it. This is the most exciting thing that’s happened to me all week, believe it or not.”

Keith raises an eyebrow, “Do you _always_ stick your nose into other people’s business?”

“Not this way. You’re the first physical fight I’ve broken up.” Shiro replies, “What were you doing?”

Keith was dreading this question, but he knew it was inevitable. He and Pidge went over countless fake stories to tell Shiro. Most of them simplistic, because Keith isn’t a very good liar. If nothing else, he could manage to parrot half-truths without too much damage. The truth is definitely the easier option, but Keith risks Shiro’s well-being if he takes that road. “I’m a delivery boy...and got...jumped.”

To Keith, his delivery felt unconvincing. Forced. If Shiro caught him in his lie, then he wouldn’t know what to do.

Shiro looks like he wants to comment on that, but decides against it at the last moment, “Does this happen often? Maybe you should file--”

Keith interrupts, “It’s fine. I can handle myself.”

“You knocked me out cold with one punch.” Shiro reminds him. “I’m not worried about your self-defense skills. I’m more concerned about the people who attacked you. Are they still on the loose?”

“They’re no longer a problem.” Keith replies automatically. They weren’t very good fighters and Keith bested them with minimal damage to himself. He’s sure they won’t come back, Lance sent him confirmation that the Fables picked them up. Not that he can tell Shiro that.

Even though Keith said that he’d answer questions, he looked increasingly uncomfortable doing so. Shiro thinks it would be best to change the subject.

“Hey, got anything for headaches?” Shiro removes the compress, ice might soothe immediate pain, but he’d like something stronger to really knock it out.

“Only when Lance comes around.” Pidge enters with a laugh.

She barges into the room with a small aspirin bottle and sits on the other side of Keith. Unlike Keith, who’s ready for the day, Pidge is drowning in an oversized graphic tee and large round glasses. They look nothing alike, but Shiro’s almost positive that _this_ is the little sister Keith spoke of. Pidge’s entire demeanor radiates a refreshing childish energy. If Shiro had to guess, he’d say that she was probably teenager. Though with her baby face, she could be anywhere between 14-18 years old.

“One or two pills?” She asks.

“Two please.”

Pidge hands them off to Shiro, blabbing the entire time, “I feel indebted to you, y’know. After that crepe you recommended, I didn’t think I could eat anything else for the rest of my life. It was _that_ good. Seriously. Not everyone can have such a developed palate like yours and mine. But it’s a burden we’ll have to carry until the end of time. It sucks that you’ll never get to experience such delicacies, Keith.”

“I’ll pass. Some of your combinations are borderline lethal.”

She ignores him and reaches to shake Shiro’s hand, “I’m Pidge Gunderson. Tech extraordinaire. Food connoisseur.”

Keith snorts, “Food _connoisseur_? Since when?”

Pidge sticks her tongue out at him, but cheekily adds, “I’ve heard a _lot_ about you from Keith, but it’s nice to finally meet you.”

“You’ve heard about me? From Keith? We haven’t--” Shiro steals a glance at Keith who blatantly looks in the opposite direction.

Keith’s phone vibrates in his pocket, he checks the caller ID and stands up so abruptly that he nearly loses his footing. Shiro eyes follow’s Keith’s tense steps as he silently exits the room, his expression obscured by his bangs. He looks at Pidge inquisitively who tries to change the subject.

.

“ _T_ _hat wasn’t very wise of you, Red. You almost compromised Robin Hood’s mission. He’s already been seen by the public once. You were supposed to handle your assignment alone.”_

Keith’s outside of the apartment, leaning over the balcony railing. He’s trying not to let his nerves get the best of him. Though it’s difficult when he’s talking to The Witch. Her voice is naturally raspy, but the eerie calmness freezes Keith to his core. Even in the sweltering humidity of the summer, pulses of a cold chill grips his body with each word.

“I’m sorry, ma’am.” Keith replies evenly. “Circumstances prevented me from delivering the targets myself. It won’t happen again.”

“ _Mistakes result in unnecessary casualties.”_

“Yes ma’am.”

“ _Pray tell. What ‘circumstances’ got in your way? Did someone see you?”_

Keith grips the balcony railing so tightly that his knuckles turn white. He’s glad that she can’t see his face because it would betray the credibility of his words. “No. No one was there. I was overwhelmed and needed back-up.”

“... _I see.”_ The pause is too long for Keith to feel relief, _“Your honesty is valued, Red. Unlike your predecessor who kept secrets from the organization,”_ her animosity spills into every word, _Disgraceful. Reprehensible. But ultimately futile. It’s that behavior that got her ki--”_

“Don’t talk about my mother.” Keith interjects angrily, “She’s not dead she’s _missing_. The database hasn’t confirmed her death--”

“ _Watch your temper, boy.”_ The Witch hisses quietly. _“She’s dead to_ **_me._ ** _You want me to assign you that mission to find her? Prove to me that you can handle it. Your recent blunder tells me that you’re not ready. I’ll send Gretel the details of your next job soon. You can only stay alive if you...”_

“Protect your heart, I know.”

_“And what does that mean?”_

They say in unison, “ **_No emotion. No attachment. No distractions._ ** ”

“I know,” Keith repeats, quieter, gloomier. “I know.”

“ _I expect more from you, Red._

The dial tone beeps, but Keith doesn’t hear it. He slumps against the balcony. It’s been 13 years since his mother went missing and no one seems to care except for him. The case has been ‘cold’ for a while now. Although the Fables have a wealth of data at their disposal, they don’t have any true legal power to do anything with it. Other than selling information, that is. Nonetheless, Keith knows that he’d uncover the truth if gets assigned the mission. That’s the reason why he joined the Fables in the first place. To find his mother. But since Keith didn’t finish last night’s mission unaided, he’d inadvertently sent himself further away from his goal.

For years he’s trained to be a field operative for the Fables, underwent brutal mental and physical training in order to prove he was indispensable.

He takes a deep breath and stands upright, looking out at the city’s horizon. His mother is out there somewhere. He can feel it. Keith turns and opens the door to the apartment and nearly collides with Shiro on his way out. They both stand in surprised silence until Keith manages to ask, “You’re leaving already?”

Pidge peeks out from behind Shiro, “He’s gonna make breakfast as thanks for taking care of him! Can you believe it?”

Shiro adjusts his wrinkled clothes and nods in the affirmative, “Pidge said there’s a grocery store a few blocks away so we won’t be too long. Is that okay?”

“That’s...fine...” Keith moves out of the way so Shiro can pass. Shiro gives Keith a quick pat on the shoulder as he does. Pidge slinks out the door behind him. They make their way down the metal staircase to the bottom floor.

Pidge stops for a moment and calls up to Keith, “You can sleep now that Shiro’s out of your bed! We’ll be back in maybe half an hour so don’t eat anything, okay?”

Keith cheeks tinge pink and he goes inside without replying. Pidge grins and pulls Shiro down the sidewalk in triumph.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone asked me if the crepe place is based on actual restaurant and it the answer is yes! It's near my university and it's very tiny (but always crowded). Also, Bacon Nutella strawberry crepes are highly recommended, but not for the faint of heart so consume at your own risk!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads-up, from this point on, I'll be updating this every other week instead of weekly since school is starting soon and life will get a little busier! 
> 
> Also, there's a little "spice" in this chapter, but I don't think it warrants a rating change just yet.

There’s nothing for Keith to do except wait for Shiro and Pidge to get back, so he decides to tidy up. The apartment isn’t exactly messy, but it took some effort to get Shiro safely into the bedroom without knocking stuff down. Luckily, the only casualty is a small cardboard box near the front door that got overturned. 

Keith doesn’t remember putting it there, so it has to be Pidge’s. He stoops down to collect the paper, careful not to accidentally tear anything. They’re newspaper clippings, some of which are beginning to yellow. His eyes catch a few headlines:

_Family of Four Gets in Car Accident, Leaving Two Missing, One Dead, and One in Critical Condition_

_Famed Scientist and Son Go Missing Following Accident_

_Investigation Crawls to a Halt as Missing Scientist Case Grows Cold_

_Galaxy City Celebrates Life of Sam and Matthew Holt_  

There wouldn’t be a reason for them to be so close to the door unless Pidge had plans to throw them out...but why would she throw away something so important? He gingerly takes the box back to his room and stows it in his closet just in case. Mementos, no matter what, are important.

At times it’s the only thing that keeps a memory of a person alive.

Keith closes the door and pulls a guitar case from underneath his bed. It’s solid black leather, the name _Kogane_ emblazoned in gold cursive at the bottom. The wear is minimal, save for the faded stickers with names of various music venues. The guitar itself has long been lost, but the case has proved useful nonetheless. It’s his own container of memories.

When he was really little, his mom told him stories about how she met his father at one of his gigs. Keith remembered how softly she smiled, her eyes crinkling with a depth of love reserved only for his father and Keith. She’d sit Keith in her lap and lull him to sleep by singing the song his father wrote for their wedding. Keith recalls an even fainter memory of his mother and father singing a duet version of it while they cooked breakfast one morning.

He sings the song under his breath. It’s not the sultry alto nor the deep baritone of his parents, but it still sounds nice in his own voice. Keith sits cross-legged on the floor and pops the two locks open, wincing at the high-pitched sound of rust scraping against each other. The black velvet interior is obscured by small photo albums, loose clothing, and a large red cloak.

His mother’s.

The original “Red Riding Hood”.

Keith slides his hand along the fabric and picks it up. Outside of old photos, this is the only thing he has left of her. Well, that and her black sportbike. He doesn’t know much about her involvement with the Fables outside of the vitriol The Witch spews about her every now and then. Though he’s heard rumors from older Fables that she was certainly a force to be reckoned with. Ever since his mother’s disappearance, Keith’s been under the care of the Fables until he was old enough to officially join.

Keith never understood exactly _why_ The Witch allowed him to join and learn about the Fables’ existence. She held such clear animosity toward his mother, but never him.

Not that he would ever ask.

Keith rifles through the contents for a little while longer, then slides the guitar case back into place. He stands up and moves to make his bed since he doesn’t plan on sleeping again until that night. Keith smooths the comforter, tucks it into the mattress. He climbs on the bed to put the pillows back into place but stops when he smells something good. It’s sharp and masculine, and unlike anything Keith’s come into contact with.

 _Cologne_?

It’s a fleeting but intoxicating smell that imprints itself in the recesses of his mind. A reminder of someone other than himself in his bed.

A reminder of _Shiro_ in his bed.

Keith’s face heats up, the cologne is more prominent on his pillow than anywhere else, but even then it’s only the remnants. He hesitates for a moment before sweeping the pillow into his arms.

Keith imagines what it would be like to have Shiro in his personal space while smelling like this. He’d definitely feel more solid than a pillow, warmer. Keith’s fingernails dig deeper and his thoughts come tumbling out faster than he can process it fully. Shiro in his bed… Shiro holding him down with Keith’s hands tangled in his hair… Keith letting his mind go blank while Shiro whispers in his ear and curls his fingers deeper into—

Keith gasps and drops the pillow.

_Oh no._

Cutting his previous thoughts off, Keith quickly finishes the bed, then leaves the room, closing the door behind him. After a short walk to the bathroom, he catches sight of his reflection in the mirror. Keith’s cheeks are ruddy and his pupils blown wide. Keith tries in vain to wash it all away with water…the redness...his delusions.

There’s no rational explanation for why Keith feels such strong attraction toward a man he’s known for less than a week. Shiro probably doesn’t feel the same way. Both of their previous encounters involved Keith making a complete fool of himself. At the crepe shop, Keith needed help choosing a menu item. In the alleyway, he knocked Shiro out without a second thought. Shiro probably thinks that Keith has a screw loose. Keith splashes his face one more time, taking time to just breathe. Keith heads to the kitchen and busies himself with pulling out cooking tools for breakfast. That’s where he stays until Pidge and Shiro return to the apartment.

.

Keith and Pidge can’t cook anything that requires multiple steps. Which is why the majority of their meals consisted of take out, anything that can be slapped in a microwave and left to its own devices, and items that didn’t require cooking at all. It had been at least two years since either of them attempted to turn the dial on the stove that wasn’t to boil water. If you’d swept your finger along the surface, there would be a fine layer of dust waiting underneath your fingertips. So to see Shiro unearth and _use_ pans that were practically new, the two couldn’t help look with muted fascination.

“Um...do you guys want to help?” Shiro says looking over his shoulder. He’s feeling a bit self-conscious from the attention, but also proud.“Pidge you’re drooling.”

Pidge wipes her mouth, “It smells _sooo_ good. You already cooked the bacon, can I have just one slice? Please?”

“We have a lot, so sure.” Shiro nods his head toward the platter filled with grease-soaked bacon. Pidge swipes two and retreats to her room.

“Call me when breakfast is ready, I have some stuff I need to take care of!” She calls from the hallway.

“Are you sure don’t want an apron?” Keith waves the wrinkled thing in Shiro’s periphery but Shiro shakes his head. “I’m using it then. What can I help with?”

“Could you stir the pancake mix while I’m making eggs? The box says add water, but I bought some milk if you want to use that instead. It should be kind of thick when you finish. Just make sure there are no air bubbles.” Keith nods and picks up the glass bowl filled with off-white powder. It didn’t look very appetizing. Shiro continues while Keith wrinkles his nose, “How do you like your eggs? I can also make an omelet if you want, but toppings are limited.”

Shiro carefully cracks a few eggs into a bowl and uses a fork to whisk them around. After he’s satisfied he sprinkles in salt and pepper and whisks some more.

“I..don’t really have a preference. Scrambled, I guess?” Keith replies reaching for the milk. He’s not sure how much he’s supposed to put in, so he just uncaps it and dumps a generous amount. Now for the mixing. They don’t have a whisk. He substitutes it for a fork like Shiro. There’s a strong possibility that he put too much milk in the bowl, because it’s starting to feel more and more soupy. He adds more pancake mix to thicken it up, but somehow made the situation worse. Shiro unknowingly moves into Keith’s space to pour the eggs into the waiting pan.

Keith watches as Shiro scrapes around the contents of the pan, the eggs slowly puffing into bright yellow and white. There’s no apprehension to his movements. In fact, he moves so fluidly that Keith can’t help but stare.

“See something you like?” Shiro teases, sliding the scrambled eggs on a plate.

Keith raises an eyebrow, “The eggs look good?”

“Oh.” Shiro rubs the back of his neck with his free hand, “Really? Thanks.”

“You make it look so easy.”

Shiro hums, “It’s second nature at this point,” he smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His voice is quieter, almost nostalgic, “I made breakfast for my grandfather a lot when I was younger…but stopped right before I graduated from high school.”

Keith reads between the lines and looks away, “Sorry.”

Shiro laughs it off, “Don’t worry about it. It’s been years.”

With the eggs and bacon both out of the way, breakfast is nearly complete. The only thing left to cook are the pancakes. Shiro decides to set the table since pancakes aren’t very time consuming. The cabinets are sparse in terms of plates and utensils, but there are enough for the three of them. Keith meets him at the stove with the giant bowl of pancake mix. In an effort to alleviate the soupiness, he kept adding more powder. Keith ended up emptying the entire box.

“Don’t say anything.” Keith warns.

“I wasn’t!” Shiro turns his back to Keith, hiding his smile as he searches for maple syrup in a grocery bag. It’s the good kind. Not only is it in a glass bottle, it’s also shaped like a maple leaf. He pretends that his successful search for syrup is the reason for the grin plastered on his face. Keith’s not buying it.

“It’s too much for three people, you can say it.”

Shiro shakes his head, “No, well...yeah it kinda is, but we can just make massive pancakes. And they’ll be that much sweeter with _this.”_

He uncaps the syrup and pours a good dose into the mixing bowl. Keith’s sure that syrup _isn’t_ supposed to be in there just yet, but in the 48 odd hours that he’s known Shiro, Keith knows that he’s a man of very strange tastes.

“Trust me, it’ll be good.” Shiro stirs the bowl until the contents are a darker beige. He passes it to Keith, who accepts it unthinkingly.

Keith scrunches his eyebrows and flicks his eyes between Shiro and the bowl. Shiro couldn’t possibly think that Keith _wouldn’t_ cause a fire trying to prepare this thing, because he would _definitely_ cause a fire. It was an unspoken question. A question that Shiro answered by moving to the sink to wash the items he used to cook.

“Uh, Shiro?”

Shiro looks over to Keith, who hasn’t moved an inch. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing.” Keith shakes the bowl a little for emphasis.

“Ah.” Shiro rinses off a spatula and fork and walks over to the stove. Keith meets him halfway and they switch what they’re holding. “I’ll pour the batter and you flip.”

Keith makes an apprehensive sound, but nods anyway. Shiro pours a capful of oil into the frying pan and waits for it to spread along the bottom. With the finesse of a painter, the batter slowly dribbles out and pools into an oblong circle. Keith takes that as his cue to flip it. Shiro gently stops his wrist, which takes Keith by surprise.

“Wait until the underside is a little firmer. Cooking takes patience, and _patience yields focus_.” Shiro realizes belatedly that he probably sounded preachy, but Keith seems to take the words to heart. He raises the spatula and mumbles them under his breath. Shiro guides his hand for the first two, careful not to aggravate Keith’s bruised knuckles. Shiro’s arm fits snugly along Keith’s, part of his chest pressed against Keith’s back. Amid the smell of cooked food comes Shiro cologne, more powerful than ever.

Shiro is completely oblivious to Keith’s suffering.

Although he leaves Keith to his own devices after the first two, the damage is already done. They end up with six oddly shaped pancakes.

Pidge floats in dreamy-eyed and sits at the table without being called to the table, eyes glued to the pancakes on her plate. Despite the hungry look in her eye, she waits patiently for Keith and Shiro before eating.

“The pancakes taste _amazing_ , Shiro.” Pidge says after her first mouthful.

Shiro points his fork in Keith’s direction, “Actually, Keith made the pancakes, I just poured the batter.”

“You’re kidding.” Her eyes meet Keith’s in disbelief. “Keith?”

Keith tries not to smile and deflects the attention elsewhere, “Shiro’s the one who put maple syrup in the batter.”

“A beautiful collaboration,” Pidge clangs her utensils in applause. “Both of you, including the plating. I couldn't be happier.”

Shiro laughs at the praise, “You sound like a judge on the Food Network.”

“God, I _wish_ ,” Pidge snorts, “But that’d never work out. Food isn’t my favorite thing to experiment with. Technology is more my speed.”

Shiro makes the very obvious mistake of asking Pidge to elaborate on her interests, which she does with fervor. Keith of course, has heard her gush about robotics and programming on a daily basis, and easily tunes her out. He glances at Shiro, surprised to see him hanging onto her every word. He must have been staring for a while, because their eyes meet. Shiro smiles and Keith’s heart flutters.

_Don’t get distracted._

Keith can’t enjoy this.

_Mistakes result in unnecessary casualties._

Shiro can’t know about him.

_Protect your heart._

Keith has to make a decision.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again thank you for the lovely comments, whenever I see the notification I HAVE to stop whatever I'm doing to read it them...then proceed to grin at it for the rest of the day! The concept behind this is very strange, I know, but it's fun to write.

“You’re so whipped,” Pidge swings her legs over the side of Keith’s sport bike and hops off. She tugs at her white shorts as Keith shuts off the headlights in the underground parking garage. He takes off his helmet and shakes the hair stuck to his face. Pidge’s hair is usually unruly, so she doesn’t mind the wind on the ride to the Fable hideout. 

Keith can’t even deny Pidge’s painfully accurate statement.

.

Soon after breakfast, Shiro felt that it was time that he head back home. This worked in Keith and Pidge’s favor because they’d just received a summons from the Witch and kind of needed to get there as quickly as possible. Preferably without too much suspicion. Pidge left it up to Keith to get Shiro out the door while she got ready to leave. Keith walked Shiro to the door, thanking him again for breakfast.

“I wouldn’t mind cooking for you again,” Shiro says as Keith opens the door. “But my apartment next time. I have measuring cups.”

Keith decided that this is where they would sever ties completely. It would be too dangerous, too _stupid_ to let things go any further. Keith’s a bad liar, so there’s no way that he’d be able to his secret for long anyway. He grips the doorknob and opens his mouth to reject Shiro’s offer--

“That sounded weird, didn’t it?” Shiro laughs nervously, “Sorry, I just... _really_ want to see you again.”

Keith’s mouth snaps closed, any previous thoughts wiped away like words on a chalkboard. It was shocking how fast Shiro’s words became his, and Keith could only dumbly repeat, “You want to see me again.”

“If--that’s alright with you.”

After a second careful and _lengthy_ internal deliberation with himself, Keith caved and gave Shiro his number without him asking for it. To make matters worse, Shiro’s phone was _dead_ . This gave Keith ample time to change his mind. He could have changed it while he searched a kitchen drawer for a Sharpie _and_ on his way back to the front door.

There was no going back when Shiro put his hand in his, not when his fingers brushed Keith’s wrist so softly. Intimately. Keith’s handwriting is sloppy as he scrawls the digits. He blames it on the fact that he’s writing on skin rather than paper, not his sweaty palms. Definitely not the sweaty palms.

“Text me.” Keith murmurs, capping the marker.

“I will.” Shiro promises.

The parting is kind of bittersweet, but the promise of another meeting makes up for it. He steps out onto the balcony and sees Shiro off. Shiro looks back once and waves goodbye, smiling so brightly that it takes Keith’s breath away. Keith doesn’t close the door until Shiro’s well out of sight. After he does, he immediately knocks his head against it several times muttering ‘ _stupid, stupid_ ’ to himself. Pidge came in to investigate the strange thumping, only to find a pouting Keith seated in front of the door rubbing his reddening forehead. It didn’t take long for her to put two and two together and she lets out a long unimpressed _‘wow’._

.

Keith and Pidge take turns placing their hands on the scanner to the elevator. The silver doors slide apart and they scan the other hand on the inside as well. Next to the doors are numbers with corresponding blue tinted buttons that go from 1-50. Unlike most elevators that go up and down, this one is multidirectional, allowing it to travel to very specific sectors. Keith pushes the button with ‘11’ on it.

Pidge drops their earlier conversation completely. Any words exchanged beyond the parking garage would surely be recorded, so the protocol is only to speak when spoken to. Of course, this doesn’t mean she can’t communicate her amusement in other ways. Pidge takes out her phone and quickly sends Keith a text message. She waits patiently for Keith to take out his phone and reply. Keith gives her a flat stare as he pulls his phone out to read it. 

[Pidge]: _So...did he txt u yet??_

[Keith]: _No, it’s only been two hours and 15 minutes._

 

Pidge snickers before typing her next message.

 

[Pidge]: _Wow...tht’s precise_

[Pidge]: _But also_

[Pidge]: _I cnt believe u actually wrote ur # on his hand!! Straight out of a rom com if u ask me_

[Keith]: _His phone was dead._

[Keith]: _I panicked._

[Pidge]: _u panicked -_-_

 

Keith sighs.

 

[Keith]: _I shouldn’t have done it._

[Pidge]: _No no i get it...Shiro’s a p cool guy ;)_

[Keith]: _He is._

[Pidge]: _U should’ve seen ur face during breakfast lol_

[Keith]: _My face?_

[Pidge]: ... _nothing_

[Keith]: _God, this is such a risk..._

[Pidge]: _We cn figure this out...after the mtg of course_

[Keith]: _Over crepes._

 

Pidge nudges Keith and smiles up at him, he returns the favor by ruffling her hair. The elevator dings and they put away their phones once more. Pidge adjusts her glasses then pats her hair down. They step out with a neutral expression, walking with a purpose down the long hallway. It’s quiet except for the sound of their shoes on the steel grid. Below them are a series of lights, a heavy purple that’s more foreboding than anything. It washes the reflective black walls in a haunting hue, distorting their shadows to something monstrous. 

The door opens as they reach it and Kolivan steps out. He towers over them, expression is sharp as always, though ultimately unreadable. Keith is unfazed. Kolivan has been his mentor ever since he joined the Fables. Other than the Witch, Kolivan is the only other person in the entire organization that knows Keith well. As a general rule, members are not allowed to discuss their induction, nor do they intertwine their personal lives. Though it’s no secret that the majority of them have lost important people in their lives to get here. Whether that happened before or after they joined is a toss up, but again, you’re not allowed to talk about it. Keith knows very little about Kolivan’s past. However, he’s been a big part of Keith’s after he lost his mother. Kolivan has attempted to keep him out of trouble. Today is no different. Kolivan blocks their pathway.

“We’re not barging in,” Keith says trying to get around him. It doesn’t work.

Kolivan sticks out his arm, “I know. I’m here to offer a word of warning.”

Keith takes a step back, frowning.

“You are temporarily banned from solo missions, Keith.” Kolivan says sternly, and Keith bristles, “I’m telling you _now_ so you don’t speak out of turn. Process, then let it go. There’s nothing you can do except wait.”

Keith storms past Kolivan and into the spacious room, Pidge following close behind.

Kolivan calls harshly behind him, “Patience, Keith.”

Keith stops in his tracks. He’s been patient. He looks up at the Witch, eyes stormy with conflict. He’s been patient for over a damn decade. His only obstacle is _her._ Of course, Keith should know at this point that if he’s going to get anywhere, he has to stay in her favor. Which he clearly doesn’t have at the moment.

The Witch sits in a large room with a giant ice-blue throne in the center. It’s elevated to allow her to look down at anyone who dares to approach her. The closer you get, the more you look up to her. It’s vain and condescending, but it keeps people in line. Her appearance matches her title. Her long pointed nails tap impatiently on the arm rest, an indicator of a bad mood. Her long and winding white hair flares out from behind, a contrast to the velvet black cloak that billows down and around her. The Witch’s current demeanor leaves no room for tolerating Keith’s anger.

“Gretel,” the Witch forgoes greetings in favor of getting to the point, “Go with Silver Hoof to the security development room. He will show you the layout of city hall. Memorize their security system and set up  the perimeter for your mission tomorrow.”

Pidge pales, “Hack _and_ secure a high security building by _tomorrow?_ That’s not--”

“Not a problem I presume?” The Witch finishes for her. “You’ll work undisturbed.”

Pidge wants to say that it’s _not nearly enough time_ , but the words die on her lips, “Yes ma’am.” Pidge nods tersely and turns to meet Kolivan at the door. Once the room has been vacated the Witch rises from her seat and descends the stairs toward the floor. Keith’s still incensed. Even more so now that Pidge probably won’t be home tonight.

At the bottom of the stairs she smiles, but the warmth is absent. She circles around him slowly, “Little Red. You’ve gotten way too comfortable with solo missions. I send you off, thinking that you’re capable, but it looks like you need a chaperone.”

“I don’t.” Keith replies through gritted teeth, forgoing his short-lived plan of flattery. It’s not his strong suit anyway.

“You _do_ …” she reiterates, stopping in front of him. When Keith was younger, the Witch could glower at him to silence him. It’s not as effective anymore, but Keith’s aggressive ferocity could never match her wrathful one. The Witch continues when she thinks he’s subdued, “I’ve already notified Robin Hood that you will be working together on your next mission. Will this be a problem?”

Of course the question is rhetorical, a test to see whether Keith will try to oppose her decision. He doesn’t have a choice in the matter, nor can he change her mind. Nonetheless, Keith’s feeling combative.

“Robin Hood is the one that’s plastered all over the news. Shouldn’t the roles be reversed?”

The Witch sneers, “Don’t flatter yourself, you’re in the same boat. Though it is fortunate that you mentioned our rising popularity. There are documents in city hall that need to be disposed of. We pride ourselves on secrecy, yet the public has somehow connected the dots so quickly. We might have a rat in our midst.” She walks behind her throne and places her palm against a wall. A bookshelf reveals itself and she pulls out a leather journal. She flips through it briefly, then tears out a page. The Witch motions for Keith to take it, “The numbers will give you their location in the archives. Memorize it, then burn it. Coordinate with Robin Hood. Monday night, you take action. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes ma’am." 

.

Allura promised herself that she wouldn’t get caught up in local government after graduating from college. A childhood filled with the press, overly-friendly strangers, and politics stripped her of any interest, though she understood the process inside and out. Unfortunately, her degree in Sociology paved the way toward her current occupation as a freelance public relations officer...for the Galaxy City Council. How she wound up here despite her reservations is beyond her.

Now with her father running for mayor, her job’s becoming a little more difficult. Because he’s a councilor, there’s a lot at stake if he doesn’t win. Amongst other things, he’ll lose his council seat, which means that their district will have to hold a special election, which means that a lot of district programs will be put on hold until they can fill his position, which will lead to a myriad of unhappy citizens. Allura shudders at the PR nightmare just waiting to happen.

“Princess? Are you okay? You’ve been staring into space for about five minutes now.”

Allura eyes refocus from the framed city map on the back wall and to the concerned visage of Coran. They’re sitting across from each other in Councilor Alfor’s office, Allura at her father’s desk and Coran sitting on the opposite side. Coran has been both a family friend and Alfor’s personal assistant longer than Allura’s been alive. Whether it’s a birthday, holiday, or family outing, Coran’s been right there bringing his eccentric charm. According to Coran, at her fifth birthday party (which was princess themed), Allura commanded him to refer to her as such for “forever and a half years”, hence the nickname. Allura has absolutely no recollection of this. Coran has the decency to not use the nickname in a professional setting, so no harm, no foul.

“I’m just worried about the campaign,” she admits, “There’s so much to do until election day. And even then we can’t predict the outcome. I’d hate for all this hard work to go to waste.”

Coran quickly reassures her, “Hard work is _always_ rewarded. And even if we don’t win, we can still help the city as private citizens, it’s a win-win situation.”

Allura appreciates his optimism, but it doesn’t really make her feel better. She nods anyway.

Coran scoots back in his chair, adjusts his tie, and rolls down the sleeves of his white button down, “Maybe we should take a break, stretch our legs a bit until the council meeting is over.”

Allura welcomes that idea, slipping her heels back on and throwing on her burgundy blazer. They walk out of the office into the cramped hallway. The carpet floor splits the hallway into two sides. One side is lined with cubicles that belong to the central staff, the other side are doors that lead to the five councilors’ offices. Other than the archive room, the main floor, and the council chambers, the layout of city hall is eerily similar to a generic office building.

They head to the elevator, greeting their fellow staffers on the way there. Because Allura's one of the youngest faces in city hall, she tends to stand out. The older female staff members are eager to know about her personal relationships and often ask if she’s found someone special. When she’s by herself, it’s difficult to deflect questions, but Coran’s very good at steering conversations into safer waters. Allura’s appreciative of his help. She offers to buy his chips from the vending machine as thanks.

Although there’s a vending machine on their floor, the Law Department on the floor above them have higher quality snacks. It’s a well kept secret that only the councilors, their staff, and everyone on the third floor knows about. In exchange, the city attorneys have unlimited access to the second floor coffee pot, which is always filled with Councilor Blaytz favorite coffee beans. They wait in front of the elevator, located in a room separate from the offices.

The elevator dings and swishes open, revealing Councilor Trigel and all of her regal glory. She radiates elegance in her tan pantsuit and trademark golden broach and matching stud earrings, Her hair is pulled back into a tight bun. She smiles warmly at both of them, “Coran. Allura. Good morning to you both." 

“Good morning to you too, Councilwoman Trigel,” Coran holds the elevator for her, “I see you made a trip upstairs,” he gestures to the plastic wrapped chocolate mini donuts in her hands, “We’re on our way there ourselves.”

“I hope you’re not looking for these, I got the last pack,” the councilor shakes them for emphasis.

Allura shakes her head, stepping inside the elevator as the councilor steps out,“I’m actually craving something salty at the moment.

“There’s an abundance of that my dear, since it’s mostly chips this week. Hopefully they’ll start selling those marshmallow bars,” she gasps, “Allura, when you get a chance please come by my office when you get a chance, I need to arrange a press release for an upcoming resolution.”

Allura nods in affirmation, “Yes ma’am.”

The councilwoman thanks her, then heads back to the offices.

On the way up the elevator, Allura and Coran try to coordinate their daily schedules to make sure they have room to meet with Alfor before their central staff meeting at 3pm. A notification pops up on Allura’s phone as she’s double checking her calendar. It’s from the Galaxy News App. According the short blurb, there’s been four unrelated kidnappings in the same night. A statement from a local resident cites the Fables as the culprit, but it’s only conjecture.

“Coran, read this,” Allura hands her phone over to Coran, who scans it at a frightening speed.

“Fables, huh? They sound like a mafia.”

“Can you tell me about them? Anything?” Allura asks, taking her phone back.

Coran twirls his mustache as he thinks, “If I were just a citizen, I’d tell you no. While it’s true that the legend of the Fables have dropped in and out of the minds of the city for half a century, there’s too much contradicting information. I know there’s more information about them in the Law Department archives and our Historical archives, but only certain employees have access to that. We’d have to request it, but that could take at least half a year. Would you like to--”

“No. I don’t want to request it, it’s not that important,” Allura says, but her mind is racing a mile a minute. If she really _wanted_ to, she could go in after hours. She knows how to turn off the security system, and where the master key is.

“Are you sure? Maybe Alfor could fast track it. Cut down the wait time to two months?” Coran offers, but Allura shakes her head.

“I really appreciate it, Coran. But I think I’ll just leave it to our news station and the police.”

Allura tries not to give away her excitement. She’ll be like a spy, sneaking around to retrieve a secret object. Not to mention she’ll be able to learn about the elusive Fables on her own terms. Allura decides to go ahead and check tonight, get it out of the way before she talks herself out of it. It’ll be one of the most daring things she’s ever done in her life, and with so little risk! If push comes to shove, Allura will just chalk it up to research for an upcoming project. The elevator opens and Allura walks out with renewed vigor.

If she’s stuck working in city hall, why not take advantage of her resources and have a little fun with it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School starts very soon for me, but I'll try my best to keep updates consistent.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kinda late, but it's longer than usual! I'm still trying to find a solid writing routine now that I'm back in school, but I've planned the next few chapters.

Shiro has _got_ to buy a portable phone charger at some point.

It took longer than usual to get back to his apartment, since he had to hail a cab instead of using an app to request a ride. After safely transferring Keith’s number onto paper, he hopped in the shower, leaving his phone charging for at least twenty minutes. After Shiro got out, he found his poor phone vibrated off the nightstand from the sheer amount of notifications and detached itself.

After a brief investigation, he found out that he had missed several calls from his job, and several texts _and_ calls from both Allura and Hunk. Shiro rarely got called into work on the weekend, unless there was an emergency. He frantically threw on clean white button down and gray slacks, and sped off in his car. Shiro’s hair was still very wet. It dampened his collar and dripped onto his nose. The bruise on his cheek was also front and center on his face. Shiro rifles through the first aid kit in his glove compartment and slaps a large bandage on it. Any other day he’d be more careful with his appearance because of his position at work, but considering the circumstances, Iverson might not chew him out as much.

Shiro sped walked past the front desk, fumbling with his keycard to get to the upper floors, and to Iverson’s office. The building is mostly vacant, save for the few Sunday workers, who are all compiling filler stories for the upcoming week. None of them look up from their work. This is fine with Shiro because he doesn’t think he has enough air in his lungs at the moment to entertain. He rounds the corner and nearly collides with Iverson, who has a group of people behind him, all clad in expensive looking clothes.

They aren’t higher ups for Galaxy News, that much is clear. The dress code for producers (among other things) is strictly conservative and won’t allow colors outside of black, white, navy blue, and some shades of brown. Shiro’s never seen these people before in his life, but he feels like he should know them in some capacity.

“Shirogane,” Iverson greets flatly, “So nice of you to make it. You look like you ran a marathon to get here.”

“ _This_ is Takashi Shirogane?” A short older woman with completely gray hair pushes her way past Iverson, and peeks over her large rimmed sunglasses to look at him. Her eyes glitter as much as the jewels on her fingers. It looks like she’s looking right through him. “He doesn’t look like a Chief Photographer, he looks like an anchor. Pure eye candy.”

Shiro’s not sure if she’s complimenting him or questioning his capabilities, but Iverson quickly says, “He’s the best person for the job, I assure you. Not only has he been working with us for two years, but he also has a degree in filmmaking.”

This is apparently an positive revelation, because the three push past Iverson to crowd around Shiro. They start asking him questions, which Shiro can’t answer because of the overlapping voices. The older woman calmly raises her hand to silence them.

“A degree in film, huh? I knew your name sounded familiar,” she slides the sunglasses fully into her silvery hair with a smirk, “You submitted a short film to our student category a few years ago, then rejected our offer to award you the grand prize when we contacted you about it. You caused quite a stir Takashi Shirogane from Garrison University… _this_ where you ended up?”

Shiro suddenly feels very vulnerable to the prying eyes of this woman. With just a few words, she casually ripped open a memory he’s tried so desperately to forget. Submitting the film was a mistake. Letting strangers watch it without knowing what it meant to him was a mistake. His damp clothes make the ice in his veins that much worse, freezing him in place.

He glances at Iverson, trying to change the subject, “Sir, why did you call me in?”

Iverson gestures to the crowd, “This the board of the Lion Film Festival. They’re hosting it in Galaxy City this year, and they need someone to document the days leading up to the festival. That person will be you, Shirogane. It’s short notice, but I trust your skill.”

One of the board members produce a stack of paper, waiting for Shiro to take it, he explains, “There will be actors and directors flying in that need to be interviewed. You’ll be in charge of capturing and editing. We have people for everything else. That schedule is absolute, and punctuality is the name of the game.”

The older woman makes an affirmative noise, “As thanks, you’ll get two unlimited passes to the festival. That means you can attend any venue as well as meet the cast and crew if they are available,” she extends her hand toward Shiro, “I will be your temporary boss, call me Autumn. Are you on board?”

Shiro definitely doesn’t have any say in the matter, but he shakes her hand nonetheless.

.

Pidge can barely keep her eyes open, and the blue light from her computer is only making it worse. After several grueling hours of configuration, tedious security simulators, and other minor tweaks, she’s ready to sleep for the rest of the week. Fortunately, the computer in her room is more than capable of handling the data needed to carry out her end of the mission. Pidge is clad in a giant t-shirt, her bed just a leap away.

Because she’s spent the better part of the past 24 hours at the Fables’ hideout, Pidge didn’t get to see Keith before he left for the mission. Though she was delighted to find a pile of her favorite snacks on the kitchen table when she returned to their apartment. This included _three family-sized bags_ of the limited edition Carrot Cake chips she had _just_ run out of. They weren’t the crepes he promised, but Pidge can let it slide this time.

He also left a tiny sticky note that said in hurried cursive:

_You’ve worked hard. Don’t forget to eat._

It would be unprofessional to help supervise a mission with her fingers covered in chip dust, but considering Keith’s message _and_ the fact that she completed a month’s worth of work in about a day, Pidge couldn’t care less.

“ _Pidge?”_ Keith’s voice filters in through her headset, _“Lance and I are about ten minutes away, everything ready on your end?”_

“Almost. The lights outside the building aren’t on anymore. I’m about to pull their security cams up and knock them offline,” she talks through a mouthful of chips, “You should be clear by the time you get there.”

Pidge hears Keith stifle a laugh, “ _Have you already eaten the takeout and moved on to the chips?_ ”

“Takeout?” Pidge repeats, “I didn’t see any takeout on the table.”

“ _It was in the refrigerator so it wouldn’t go bad. I left you two notes, one on the table and the other on the fridge. You’ve only had those chips?_ ”

Pidge looks in muted horror at the empty bag at her feet, then the one she’s currently working her way through. She chooses not to answer the question. Instead she skips a few steps ahead to the part where she blames Keith, “Look, it was the first thing I saw when I walked through the door. Sticky Note Keith made it _very_ clear that I shouldn’t forget to eat. So that’s what I’m doing.”

Keith takes this information in. The puttering of his sportbike is the only sound between them. In retrospect, it definitely would have made more sense to put the snacks in the pantry. It also would have been  much easier if he just texted that he got her food instead of leaving a note. But Keith was in such a hurry that he didn’t have the luxury of thinking it through. He just wanted Pidge to know that he appreciated her.

Keith sighs, “That’s fine. It’s late and we’re both tired. One bag isn’t gonna kill you.”

“It’s more like one and a half… almost two.” Pidge corrects sheepishly.

Keith nearly swerves off the road, “Pidge!”

She makes a static sound with her mouth in between sentences, crinkling her bag of chips for added effect, “Oh no--breaking up--can’t--talk--gotta set--set up the algorithm! Bye!”

.

It’s Monday night and Shiro still hasn’t found the time to text Keith.

Well, that’s not entirely true. Shiro’s technically had multiple opportunities, since sending a text doesn’t take _that_ much effort, but Shiro wanted to be available to reply back immediately. Working for the film festival so far has taken up the leisure time he usually got from working at his own pace in his office. He spent his lunch break with Allura and Hunk, explaining the whirlwind of a weekend he had, and that took longer than anticipated.

Now that he’s home after a hard day of work, he’s ready to relax and give his undivided attention to sending this text. Shiro’s lounging comfortably across his couch in a white tank top and sweatpants, the television nothing more than background noise. He’d been watching the news earlier, making sure that everything went smoothly, and keeping his phone on him just in case anyone called to ask a question.

What should he say? Something casual? That’s probably the easiest option. He opens up a new message, his eyes lingering on Keith’s name at the top. He types:

_Hey, it’s Shiro._

That’s simple enough… too simple for his liking. The last thing he wants to come across as is indifferent. Shiro backspaces and tries again.

_Yo, it’s Takashi Shirogane. What’s up?_

He frowns. That’s _so_ much worse. Shiro leaves his phone on the couch, making a short trip to his refrigerator to grab a beer. Maybe if he’s a bit looser, then he won’t overthink it as much.

Two beers and a glass of wine later, Shiro’s starting to regret this decision. He’s slumped over the island in the kitchen, holding his second glass of wine in one hand his phone in the other. It’s getting increasingly difficult to focus on the words he wants to say. Shiro’s thoughts keep straying to Keith. The memories of Sunday replay in bits and pieces, weaving together an emotion that Shiro wants to bury himself in. Shiro became enamored with Keith’s quiet smiles, but he wants to know what Keith looks like when he’s grinning from ear to ear. He wants to hear Keith’s bright laughter bubble from his lips, see his eyes glitter from pure joy. Keith’s hauntingly beautiful violet eyes. They’re open and honest, a sharp contrast to his guarded disposition. Shiro could look at them forever.

Shiro shakes the image out of his head, he’s getting way ahead of himself.

He still doesn’t know a lot about Keith. There’s something mysterious about him that Shiro can’t quite put his finger on. He’s strange, but not necessarily in a dangerous way. At least, he _assumes_ it’s nothing dangerous. But then again, you can’t expect to thoroughly know a person in such a short amount of time. Shiro’s absolutely willing to put in the time to get to know Keith. Whatever Keith can spare, he’ll take it.

Eager as he is, none of it can come to fruition until he sends a damn _text_.

.

Keith has never been to City Hall before, and he’s lived in Galaxy City all of his life. The entrance area is extravagant. Marble flooring spills from corner to corner, then shoots into the ceiling in the form of several columns. There are a few large windows that provide just enough white marble-enhanced moonlight for them to be able to see without flashlights. His footsteps echo across the hall no matter how quiet he tries to make them. The only other sound in the room is Lance trying to lockpick the door to the back stairwell. Pidge successfully disarmed all doors that required key cards, but couldn’t do anything about traditional doors.

Keith hears a click and a quiet celebration from Lance, “Got it!”

The stairwell is completely dark. They switch on their flashlights and start the journey to the third floor.

Keith can count the number of times he’s worked with Lance on one hand. Lance specializes in stealth missions, ones that require him to complete them undetected. Lance is a pretty loud person, and never shies away from mingling with others, so it took Keith by surprise when he learned the type of missions he went on. But Lance’s track record is sound, so Keith has a certain level of respect. Though he can only handle Lance in small doses. Keith however, is usually assigned to what he would describe as the “front lines”. While he’s not a hitman per se, he’s one of the few Fables tasked with silencing threats before they become an issue. The Witch generally assigns him to them in (by force usually) and she handles the rest. Keith tries not question what happens after he drops them off.

“Hey, this is kinda creepy, huh?” Lance whispers behind him, “You think have secret passageways somewhere?”

“It’s just a government building, so I doubt it. But this _does_ feel like a horror movie.”

Keith likes to keep talking at a minimum when working, but since there’s no one in the building other than them, there’s no harm in small talk.

“ _Exactly_. Or like a survival horror game,” Lance says excitedly, “In fact, I think I’ve played something with this exact same scenario. It was more psychological than anything. There was this endless staircase, and you had to see how far you could go without getting paranoid. Sometimes there would be strange sounds, but nothing too overwhelming.”

“That’s a _game_?” Keith replies, “That’s torture.”

“Torture? Probably.” Lance pauses for a moment, “It’d probably be scarier if you didn’t have the flashlight, though. Wandering aimlessly down stairs, hearing sounds but not knowing where it’s coming from. You’d never know what’s after you. And you wouldn’t see it attack you, if it ever does.”

While Keith does think that would be terrifying, he’s not sure if he agrees, “But wouldn’t it be worse to see exactly what’s after you? It could be anything, or anyone. A stranger, a loved one, a monster. The last thing you see is your killer, and you know there’s nothing you can do to stop it. _That’s_ scarier.”

Lance asks, “You scared of the dark?”

Keith accidentally flashes his light at Lance behind him, “What? No. That’s not what I meant.”

“Hey--watch where you point that thing, it’s really bright!” Lance stops and rubs his eyes, “There’s nothing wrong with admitting you’re afraid of the dark--”

Keith’s getting annoyed already, “I said, I’m not.”

“Oh.” Lance pauses, then asks, quieter, “What _are_ you afraid of?”

There’s something about his tone of voice that let’s Keith know that it’s not just another question to pass the time. It’s loaded. Heavy. Footsteps echo in the absence of their voices, Keith contemplates how to answer.

“I’m not afraid of anything… tangible.” Keith says finally, “What about you?”

“The dark,” Lance laughs briefly, “And screwing up another mission.”

“What… happened? The night someone saw you?”

There’s another long stretch of silence before Lance answers, “I-- I don’t know. I finished my mission, then the next day, I was all over the news,” his voice starts to waver, “I triple checked all the cameras _myself_. They kept calling me dangerous. A criminal. Said that the Fables are a bunch of vigilantes.”

“How did The Witch react? Besides sticking you with me for this mission.”

“She gave me an ultimatum. Dock my pay for three months or get sent to the Training Grounds for three weeks,” Lance scoffs, “It’s obvious which one I chose.”

Keith knows _exactly_ how Lance feels. The Training Grounds are a type of hell he wouldn’t wish on anyone. He’s never been there longer than a week, and it took him twice as long to bounce back from being there. Lance joined the Fables for the money, but refuses to elaborate beyond that. Keith’s never asked him about it, and in turn Lance doesn’t ask Keith about his reason.

Keith stops when they reach a door with a plaque that says ‘Floor 3: Law Department’ on it. Surprisingly, this door isn’t locked and they step through it, closing it silently. There are absolutely no windows on this floor, no light either.

He presses his earpiece, “Pidge, where’s the archive room.”

 _“At the end of the hall…”_ she yawns around her words, _“Second door to the right_.”

Lance presses his as well, “How’s the security system holding up?”

 _“It’s not. Everything’s off. You’re good to go._ ”

“You sound sleepy,” Lance says.

_“A little. I was taking a nap.”_

“We’ll be out soon, so you might as well go to bed,” Lance assures, “Just need to get the documents and go. Are we still on for video games this weekend?”

Pidge perks up, “ _Hell, yeah! I downloaded a co-op alien shooter the other day, and--”_

Keith interrupts, “Guys, this conversation can wait. Don’t lose focus yet.”

They enter the door marked “Archives”. The room isn’t that big, but it’s filled with cardboard boxes stacked high against the walls, shelves with manila folders, and other loose documents strewn around the floor. It’s not the neat and tidy room Lance hoped it would be.

“Holy shit, this is gonna be tedious,” Lance settles on the floor with a box and starts rifling through it, “Most of these folders are unmarked. How are we supposed to know what we’re looking for?”

Keith heads to a shelf, “The Witch gave me a list, but it really doesn’t seem like it’ll work here. They’re number-letter combinations--”

“Can I see it?” Lance steps over the mess of paper he made on the floor, and shines his flashlight on Keith’s scrap of paper.

_HA-205.90.898_

_HA-480.90.898_

_HA-823.90.898_

_HA-111.90.898_

_HA-229.90.898_

_HA-098.90.898_

_HA-504.90.898_

Lance squints at the paper, “She’s screwing with us. It says ‘ _hahaha’_. She’s laughing at our expense!”

Keith rolls his eyes, “You can’t seriously believe that, Lance.”

“ _She_ can’t seriously believe that we’re supposed to find it in all this mess.” he points to the paper, “What else could ‘ _HA_ ’ stand for?”

“It’s obviously a categorizing system…” Keith looks around the room, “The documents are in here somewhere. Pidge said that this is the _only_ archive room.”

Lance makes an exasperated sound and continues his search. Keith pockets the paper and does the same. It’s all in vain. An hour and a half into their silent search proves fruitless, and both men are getting impatient. Most of the documents are about legislation that city hall has passed, but nothing about the Fables. Keith’s learning more about Galaxy City than he ever cared to know. Lance is more restless than he is, and starts to wander around the room.

For a moment, Keith actually entertains that idea that this entire mission is a sham. It’s better than accepting the fact that his local government has no system in place to organize their files. Some of the papers are orininal documents that are almost 70 years old. It’s kind of sad that a piece of history is being left to rot in a room, but Keith can’t do anything about it.

The sound of boxes tumbling to the floor snaps him out of his thoughts and he shines his flashlight in the direction of the sound. Lance is standing triumphantly among the fallen, gesturing to the door hidden behind the boxes.

“What does this door say?” Lance asks while cleaning up the boxes

Keith angles his flashlight higher and recites, “Historical Archives…”

“Historical Archives!” Lance parrots, “A room inside another room! A secret passageway! Our salvation!”

The Historical Archive room is completely different than the Archive room. It’s almost like stepping into a larger, grander dimension. There’s a skylight in the center of the room, moonlight streaming down onto the giant circular seal of the city. Bookshelves are perpendicular to the seal, creating almost a protective circle around it. To top it all off, there are number systems on the side of each shelf. Lance and Keith step across the dark green carpet, looking up around this library that couldn’t possibly exist.

“Now _this_ is an archive,” Lance elbows Keith, “Thirty minutes, we’re out of here.”

Keith entrusts Lance with half of the list, and they split off in different directions. True to Lance’s claim, they’ve located at least two folders each in the first ten minutes. Everything is organized so cleanly. The shelves are easy to navigate and ordered numerically. It makes him wonder why it was hidden away. Keith’s searching for the last document when his phone vibrates in his pocket. He stops in dead in his tracks.

No one should be texting him right now.

Who would…

[Unknown] _: Hey, it’s Shiro_

Keith drops everything in his hands, papers flutter to the ground as he grips his phone with both hands.

 _Shiro_ . _It’s Shiro._

Shiro actually saved Keith’s number and texted him. Keith scrambles to get the papers off the floor, but keeps his phone in his hand. With the papers safe in his arms, he looks at the message again. His heart swells and he has to muffle his laughter. Should he reply now? As soon as he gets home? He’s in the middle of a mission… though it’s almost over. What should he say? Something casual? Flirty? Keith doesn’t how to flirt over text. Or in person for that matter. So he goes for something honest.

[Keith]: _I’m glad my number made it to your phone._

[Shiro]: _saved it as soon as i could_

[Shiro]: _this might sound forward but are you free this weekend? I have tickets to the film festival._

Keith has to read that over again. Is Shiro asking him out? Keith can feel his cheeks heat up. He didn’t expect that they’d be going somewhere so soon. _Yes._ He’d love to go. He’s not a movie person, but Keith’s pretty open to new experiences. Well, that  _and_ he's never been to a film festival before. He quickly types out the message and his fingers hover over the ‘send’ button when Lance pops up behind him.

“Who’s Shiro?” Lance asks looking over his shoulder. He’d just finished locating all his documents and followed the sound of falling paper.

Keith drops his papers _again_ in surprise, Lance helps him pick it up, “It’s none of your business.”

That only adds fuel to fire. Lance smirks, “If you don’t tell me, I’ll ask Pidge.”

“She won’t tell you anything.” Keith snaps.

“ _Oh?_ So she _does_ know something!” Lance accuses.

“Drop it, Lance.”

Lance shrugs, “Hey, I get it. You’re a grown man with needs, there’s no shame having a dick appo-”

“ _It’s not like that!_ ” Keith barks back with more bite than intended. Lance is bewildered by the outburst, “Sorry. He’s not… we’re not… it’s not like that.”

“Oh my god, you’re blushing, dude,” Lance comments incredulously, the light from Keith’s phone is bright enough for him to see the red in his cheeks. “Like a lot. Whoa. Who is this guy to make _you_ of all people flustered?”

Keith doesn’t get to answer, because there’s a distinct sound of a door slamming not far from them. From the volume it had to be beyond the archive room. Probably the stairwell that they came through. Panic passes between them as they slip into survival mode. Quietly, they sneak out of the archives and into the hallway, flashlights off, bodies poised to fight and escape. Lance taps on Keith’s back, signalling him to take the right side of the hallway, and he’ll take the left. They make it to the stairwell and listen for any signs of life. Keith keeps his hand on his pocket knife, but there’s a strong possibility that he won’t have to use it. They descend the stairs blind, still on high alert, still trying to figure out the source of the sound. Nothing happens. It’s just as dark, just as silent, just as still as when they first entered. Lance and Keith successfully leave city hall unnoticed.

On the second floor of city hall in pitch darkness,  Allura sits in her father’s office underneath his desk. She clutches a paper-filled binder like a lifeline. Her hands tremble in fear and exhilaration, hair disheveled and wild. Allura somehow managed to avoid those infiltrators and got the information she desired. Unfortunately, now Allura has another mess she’ll have to deal with. Since she snuck in after hours, calling the police is out of the question. She steadies her breathing and calmly leaves the office, hoping that she’ll be able to sleep properly when she gets back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: A film festival date!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the film festival date chapter! I have to say that I had a lot of fun writing this one.
> 
> Also, it was recently revealed that Kinkade had a passion for filmmaking prior to becoming an MFE pilot and all I'm gonna say is NOTED. I will definitely keep that in mind since in this AU Shiro HAS a degree in that area.
> 
> Lastly, this chapter is the longest so far with 4.5k words!! Enjoy!
> 
> P.S. I bumped the rating just in case.

“All of the Fable-related documents we found in city hall have been disposed of,” Lance reports to the Witch.

After completing a mission, standard protocol states that Fables must submit a written report and then personally confirm whether it was a failure or a success. Keith took care of the written portion, so Lance volunteered to be the spokesperson. Luckily, the Witch didn’t question him too heavily, and Lance avoided talking about anything that would make her unhappy. He was out of the hideout almost as quickly as he had gone in.

Lance walks a good distance away, glad to have the rest of the day to himself.

He finds himself at a park, dense with fragrant summer flowers and concrete sidewalks. Of all the parks in Galaxy City, Orion Park is the most beautiful as well as the oldest. He takes the trail that surrounds the man-made lake, the water a murky deep-green color. Ducks float leisurely in the liquid calm. There are so many sights of summer activity that Lance can’t help but want to join in the fun.

A yellow Frisbee clatters at his feet and he quickly flings it back into the waiting mouth of a golden retriever. The owner waves at him in thanks. Lance gives a thumbs up and continues walking. His destination is the giant statue of Orion on the other side of the park. By the time he gets there, Lance is a slightly out of breath. Along the way he helped a group of siblings climb a tree, joined an old lady in feeding birds stale bread, and nearly fell into the lake trying to retrieve a kid’s toy boat.

He sits on the rim of the fountain, out of the reach of arcs of water. Lance checks his phone, brightening at the time on the screen. He puts in his earphones, goes to his ‘recent calls’ list and taps a number. The phone rings for a little while, but someone eventually picks up.

“Veronica!” Lance greets, “You busy?”

There’s some rustling of paper and a short cry of anguish, “ _Always._ ”

“Another work lunch?”

“ _Always_ ,” she sings, “ _It’s good you called, it’ll give me an excuse to not have to look at these cases. My brain’s about to explode._ ”

Lance sits cross-legged, “Are they making you tackle multiple cases again? How many? Two? Three?”

“ _Eight. And after lunch I have another potential client._ ”

“There are at least ten other people in your law firm, why are you spreading yourself so thin?”

“ _Because I’m good at my job,”_ Veronica replies flatly, “ _People need help… and they’re putting their trust in me. I won’t let them down._ ”

Lance hums in agreement, “We have that in common, I guess. But we’re going about it differently…” he leans forward, almost like he’s sharing a secret,  “Did you get the money I sent?”

Veronica sighs, “ _Yes I did. And I’ve already transferred it to Mom and Dad’s account.”_

“Good.” Lance relaxes once more, “That’s great. How’s everyone doing?”

“ _They’re fine. Mom’s been fussing over Marco and Luis since they’re both starting college this fall._ _They’re as tall as I am and still growing. Dad’s been teaching them ‘survival skills for college’ whatever that means. It’s a good thing that I moved in with Nadia, everything’s been so crazy. We’re having a trunk party for them in about a month_ …. _around your birthday. Lance…_ ” Veronica trails off, and a heavy silence settles between them. Lance knows this pause. Knows what she’s gonna ask, “ _When are you coming home? I don’t like keeping this secret--”_

They’ve had this conversation a million times. The answer is always the same.

“You know I can’t.”

“ _At least let them know you’re alive. Is that too difficult?_ ”

“I’m technically _not_ alive, remember?” Lance says this in a casual tone, but his fingers dig into his pants fabric to ground himself, “I’ve been legally dead for years now.”

“ _But we both know that’s a lie, Lance._ ” Veronica voice is stern, “ _You send me large amounts of money and won’t tell me where you got it. I know you’re trying to help with tuition, but Mom and Dad are getting suspicious. I’m the only family member that knows your alive, and I have to keep that to myself. You say it’s to keep us safe, but I don’t understand._ ”

“Veronica--”

“ _They still grieve for you. They miss you. Everyday_ .” Veronica trails off again and Lance can hear sniffling in the background, “ _I wish I could tell them you’re okay_ . _Just so they have one less thing to cry about.”_

The last thing Lance wants to do is tear up in public, but that doesn’t stop his eyes from stinging. There are times when Lance wants to pack up and go home. He’s planned it out multiple times in his head: visit Veronica and her girlfriend, stay for a few days before heading back home to parents’ house, eat a nice home-cooked meal, and spend the rest of his life in bliss. Lance would give _anything_ to spend one day with his family again. Just one _hour_ , and he’d never complain about anything again. But it’ll never be that easy, so Lance doesn’t try to make any promises.

“Please don’t say anything,” Lance asks quietly, “I’m doing what I can to stay connected.”

“I know, I know. Sorry, I’m just frustrated with work… and I miss my little brother. As obnoxious as he may be.”

Lance welcomes the light jab, “Hey! This ‘obnoxious little brother’ of yours did some good deeds today!”

Veronica laughs a little, “Do tell.”

.

Working for the Lion Film Festival has filled Shiro with a renewed sense of excitement for the art of cinema. In college, his professors were more focused on critiquing films, rather than celebrating the creation of it. Each semester, students were required to make three short films: one comedic, one dramatic, and one freeform film. Because of scheduling conflicts (amongst other things), projects were often rushed and no one was ever satisfied with their work.

However, this festival is the complete opposite atmosphere of a college classroom.

Actors, directors, and producers wax poetic about every single aspect of their career. As the cameraman for the interviews, he’s there for all of the unfiltered dialogue. Autumn interviews people of interest, then gives him notes on how to make everyone look and sound their best. Shiro’s impressed at her depth of knowledge of the participants, though since she’s the head of the entire festival it’s to be expected. She introduces him to heavy hitters in the independent film industry, which Shiro finds odd, but doesn’t question it.

Most directors are older than he, while most actors are either his age or younger.

However, one young director broke that mold. A tall stoic man named Ryan Kinkade, was up for the ‘Lions’ Share Award’, which is given to someone who was both the screenwriter and director of their film. Although he was only 21, he spoke and carried himself like someone wise beyond his years. Shiro wondered why he didn’t submit it to the Student Film category, considering his age, but Kinkade made it clear that his work would show for itself.

As amazing as Shiro’s week’s been, he’s more excited for the weekend. He’ll be able to roam around the city, going from venue to venue, experiencing the media he’s heard so much about.

_With Keith._

After Keith agreed to go with Shiro to the festival, they’ve been texting each other non-stop. It’s mostly been about the festival and what they’re planning to watch. The film festival has a website with a schedule of all the events, as well as a brief synopsis of each movie. Keith let Shiro pick most of them, the choices are too overwhelming. Shiro is happy to oblige.

The weekend comes faster than anticipated, and although Autumn said that he’d be free to roam the festival, that wasn’t exactly true. Because Shiro caught the eye of so many people, they requested he come to the official festival parties. One was dedicated to the crew members, one for directors and actors, and a final one for award winners. Autumn insisted he attend, though she allowed him to leave early. Shiro spends his afternoons with Keith, then goes to the “Pre-Festival Celebration” party on Thursday and the “Crew Corral” on Friday. He wishes he could spend the entire day with him because the parties are extravagant, too extravagant for Shiro’s taste. Some of the reception food costs more than three months rent, and Shiro could fill a pool with champagne that totalled at least $20,000 dollars. If he had less self control, he’d sneak some of the bottles back to his car.

It helps that the news station’s dress code is strictly business casual, so he has a lot of nice clothes at his disposal. Though compared to everyone else, he’s still underdressed. No sane person would wear a three piece suit in this heat, unless they wanted to leave in an ambulance. Yet, that’s exactly what happened to a few partygoers.

This happens on Saturday, during the party dedicated to directors and actors. He’s talking to Kinkade and his boyfriend James on the balcony when they hear an ambulance stop in front of the building. They turn to look inside the glass doors as  EMTs part the sea of people with a gurney in tow. They exit with an actress covered head-to-toe in a thick fur dress.

Kinkade raises his glass of champagne, “To dressing comfortably.”

The three clink their glasses together and take a swig.

Shiro’s phone buzzes and he checks the message, and he smiles softly, “Keith’s almost here.”

“He your boyfriend?” James teases.

Shiro types out a quick response, “What makes you say that?”

“You’re looking at your phone the same way Ry looks at me,” James smirks, “I’d never mistake that expression. What’s he like?”

Shiro laughs nervously, “He’s very complex, but easy to understand if you try. But I’ve only known for less than a month so--”

“Less than a month and you already look like that? He must be a saint.”

“No, he’s definitely human. We’re not dating, though. I don’t know if he sees me in a romantic way.” Shiro gets a another notificaiton, “He’s here.”

“There’s the face again.”

Shiro peers over the balcony and sees someone that looks like Keith walking down the sidewalk toward the entrance. He downs the rest of his champagne and sets it on a nearby table. Kinkade and James wish him good luck. When he’s out of sight, they lean over the side of the balcony to watch.

Kinkade swirls his glass, “This expression that you say I make, how would you describe it?”

“Goofy.”

Kinkade hums in an amused tone, “And yet, when you’re in my bed lying on your back, you never find it funny.”

James smacks him on the arm and Kinkade laughs.

.

Keith’s waiting on the sidewalk when Shiro appears, dressed in a sleek black suit, his hair gelled back into an awkward, but handsome looking coif. He squeezes by a few partygoers, dressed just as lavishly. They pull him in for a group picture, unaware that he’s neither an actor nor producer, even though he looks the part.

God, does he look the part.

The polite smile Shiro gives the inebriated creatives as he leaves would make anyone swoon, but that’s _nothing_ compared to the grin he gives Keith when he spots him in the distance. Shiro slips through the red ropes, half-jogging the short distance to him. Up close, Keith can see a few strands of white hair out of place, his shirt slightly unbuttoned.

“You made it!” Shiro laughs breathlessly. He smooths his hair back in place, eyes roaming over Keith, “You look good.”

Keith’s wearing a red cropped sweatshirt and black skinny jeans. He raises an eyebrow, “ _I look good?_ Shiro, you’re wearing dress pants and a _tie_.”

Shiro shrugs, “Yeah, but not for long. It’s not appropriate attire for a movie.”

They head to his car a few blocks away. Shiro wastes no time taking off the vest, the tie, and untucking his dress shirt. Shiro parked two blocks away, far enough that he could park on the street without having to pay. By the time they get to his car, Shiro’s basically half-naked. It’s kind of impressive how casually Shiro stripped down in the middle of city, Keith notes to himself. Shiro’s been telling Keith about the party, though Keith stopped listening once clothes started coming off. There’s a thin layer of sweat across Shiro’s back, enough for his shirt to stick and let some skin peek through the white dress shirt. His back is really broad. The white fabric molds to his muscle quite nicely, and Keith can’t tear his eyes away.

Keith provides half-hearted responses as he watches Shiro switch outfits in a unexpectedly short amount of time. He manages to pick his jaw off the floor before Shiro turns around to face him again.

Shiro slings a black drawstring bag over his shoulder, and locks his car, “Ready to go?”

Keith nods and falls into step beside him. He takes a deep breath and says to Shiro, “You look good.”

“Thank you.”

To Keith’s surprise, the movie theater _isn’t_ an actual theatre. The venue is outside in a grassy area. It’s a strange setup, because the seating is on top of a hill with a massive screen at the bottom. Shiro shows his pass to the box office attendant and they give him a small box and two sets of earphones. The venue is small, but packed to the brim with others who are just as eager to see the movie. People are lounging in lawn chairs and on blankets, their voices blending in with the sounds of nature. Above are full trees with string lights winding around their branches. If the sun was still out, it would provide a nice canopy for shade. Fireflies blink in and out existence, flitting around everything and anything. It’s so beautifully surreal that Keith couldn’t possibly take in everything at once.

Shiro picks a spot against the trunk of one of the massive trees. They have a perfect view of the screen below, and they’re far enough that the light from it isn’t too piercing. Shiro pulls a navy blue patterned blanket out of his bag and spreads it on the grass. It’ll be a tight fit, but there’s space for the both of them. Keith wanders around the tree while Shiro gets everything settled. He comes back into Shiro’s view, the tree lights smooth across his face, pulling the vibrant violet in Keith’s eyes to the surface and mingling with it. Keith holds out his palm as two fireflies bumble toward his fingertips, circling a few times. He makes no attempt to catch them. Keith watches them circle each other until they until the tow fireflies disappear into the night.

“So beautiful,” Shiro whispers.

“It really is,” Keith agrees, taking a seat on the blanket. “I’ve always liked nature… especially at night.”

“Really? Why at night?” Shiro asks. He offers a box of candy, the kind you get at movie theatres, which Keith accepts.

“I dunno. There’s just something _magical_ about it all? It’s a...different, quiet kind of beautiful. But there’s so much life, you just have to look for it, find it.” Keith pulls his knees to his chest, and rest his cheek on top, “When I was little and had a bad day, my mom and I would lay under the stars and count the constellations until I’d fall asleep. So it’s comforting.” He pauses. “I know that sounds dumb--”

“It doesn’t,” Shiro interrupts, “Your mom sounds wonderful.”

Keith smiles, “She was.”

“ _Was_?” Shiro squeezes Keith’s shoulder, “Keith, I’m so sorry…”

“She’s missing…” his eyebrows furrow in frustration. _But I’ll find her._

“For how long?” Shiro asks without thinking, “Wait, you don’t have to answer--”

“Over a decade, but I haven’t given up hope.”

A wave of applause and cheers fill the air as the screen below fades to black with white text that says: _Feature Presentation_ on it. Shiro quickly sets up their bluetooth audio box. He plugs in the two sets of earphones and syncs it to the screen’s audio. The cords aren’t that long, so Shiro moves closer to Keith, close enough that their shoulders are almost touching.

The name of the movie is called _Come Back to Me, Flyboy_ , directed by a person Keith can’t remember the name of. The website described it as “equal parts action and romance, with beautifully constructed morbid undertones”. From what he can tell, it’s about a fighter pilot who falls in love with a mortician a few months before he’s supposed to be deployed. The action scenes are emotionally gripping, extravagant without being too overbearing. At times he found himself gripping his box of candy a little too tightly, especially when the protagonist crash landed into the middle of the ocean.

Keith also liked the colors. Each scene seemed to have its own color palette. Tender moments between the mortician and the pilot were underscored by warm orange and pink hues. It was so intimate that Keith felt like he was interrupting the characters’ private moment by watching, even though they never went beyond kissing on screen. Action scenes were dynamic but dark and gritty with splashes of red. He couldn’t take his eyes away for a moment, lest he miss something interesting.

Shiro on the other hand, can barely keep his eyes open.

It’s not that the movie wasn’t entertaining, it absolutely was, and he’s a little frustrated his body’s trying to sleep right now. While it’s true he’s been working non-stop this week, and the party sapped a lot of his evening stamina, Shiro assumed his proximity to Keith would keep him awake during the movie. His body is definitely taking advantage of the fact he’s been idle. Shiro just needs to focus on something, _anything_ to keep his mind reeling. The film music… is nothing but soft pianos and violins.

That’s not helpful in the slightest.

He then tries to focus on the dialogue, though it turns into incoherent mumbling after a while. The violins lull Shiro further away from consciousness with somber notes. It’s a losing game.

_Maybe just a little nap...like five minutes._

There’s a solid weight pressing into Keith’s left shoulder. It’s unexpected, and nearly knocks him over. He turns his head a little to see Shiro completely passed out against his shoulder. Some of his hair tickles Keith’s nose. Shiro slides forward and Keith maneuvers him so Shiro’s head is in his lap. He gets a brief flash of deja vu. This is exactly what Keith did the night in the alley. Luckily, this is a more favorable situation. Keith turns his attention away from the movie for a bit to make sure Shiro doesn’t wake up with a neck cramp.

.

Shiro wakes to thunderous applause and cheering from all directions. The noise is overwhelming, any ounce of sleepiness disappears with the increasing volume of the crowd. Did he sleep through end of the movie? How long was he out? Shiro turns his head and his cheek meets something soft but firm. He pauses.

“Shiro? You awake?”

Shiro looks skyward. Keith’s eyes stare back at him. Shiro pales.

“Keith, I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I was--”

Keith shakes his head, “It’s fine, you were tired. You missed a really good movie though, I hope it wins an award.”

“I think Kinkade would be happy to hear that.”

“Kinkade? Who’s that?”

“He’s a young director, probably about your age.” Shiro blinks, he actually doesn’t _know_ how old Keith is. The question never crossed his mind, “Wait, how old are you?”

“How old are _you_?”

“24.”

“I’m 21.”

“Oh. Then you two are the same age.”

Keith’s eyebrows shoot up, “That’s amazing. I always thought most directors were really old.”

Shiro laughs, “You’d be surprised how young they start. But this film festival does have a lot of older directors. Kinkade is an exception.”

Keith shifts his legs around, “Uh, Shiro?”

“Yeah?”

“I can’t feel my legs.”

Shiro realizes that he’s been laying on Keith’s lap not only for this entire conversation, but also during the movie. Keith’s probably dying. Shiro apologizes, sits up, and stretches. There’s people still hanging around the venue, though they’re slowly making their way toward the exit. Shiro helps Keith stand up on wobbly legs. He then gathers the snacks and the blanket and puts them back in his black bag.

“You good to walk, or do I need to carry you?” Shiro asks. He mostly teasing, but if Keith actually needed to be carried for whatever reason, Shiro wouldn’t mind.

For a moment, it looks like Keith’s considering the offer, but he answers in the negative. They make their way down the hill, dropping off the audio box and earphones in a receptacle nearby. It was kinda like the bin that they have for 3-D glasses when you leave the theatre. The exit is much too narrow to accommodate the giant crowd, people push and shove their way through, making it easy to get separated. To prevent that, Shiro takes Keith’s hand and they weave through the sea of bodies with little difficulty.

On their way back to Shiro’s car, Keith fills Shiro in on everything he missed in the movie. He quotes cool lines, and mimics some of the fight scenes, all without ever letting go of Shiro’s hand. Shiro likes how honest Keith is about things. He responds when necessary, but lets Keith do most of the talking. Shiro offers technical insight to the visuals of the movie (what little he saw) and Keith grew more excited by the new information. The conversation lasted all the way back to Shiro’s car, plus an extra fifteen minutes when Keith asked about the different types of lenses used in film. By the time the all the questions have been exhausted, Keith’s sitting on the hood of Shiro’s car and Shiro’s standing in the space between Keith’s legs. The laughter dies down once they realize that their evening is coming to a close.

“Did you park far from here?” Shiro asks.

“No. It’s withing walking distance.”

“Good,” Shiro steps back to give Keith room to get down, but he doesn’t move.

Keith doesn’t want to leave, not when he’s feeling so good. He wants to keep talking about anything and everything for as long as he can. After this night his over, he won’t know the next time they’ll be able to meet. He looks at Shiro, hoping that he can convey it with just his eyes.

“Shiro, come here,” Keith says softly. Shiro returns, closer than before. He settles his palms on either side of Keith’s hips, but is otherwise silent, “Thank you… for inviting me. I had fun.”

Shiro grins and his eyes crinkle in the corners, “I’m glad I could share something I love with you.”

Keith’s eyes flicker to Shiro’s lips. There are no cars, no people, no noise… just them. Shiro’s thumb idly strokes his thigh, completely content to just quietly admire. Keith licks his dry lips and takes a deep breath.

_Screw it._

Keith presses his lips against Shiro’s cheek, “Good night, Shiro.”

He slides off the hood, planting his feet on solid ground, but this time, Shiro doesn’t budge. Keith’s heart starts to beat faster. Did he misinterpret the mood? Is Shiro mad? Keith eye level stops as Shiro’s collarbone, so he can’t see his expression without looking up. It’s better to apologize before things get awkward--

Shiro wraps an arm around the small of Keith’s back, and tangles their bangs together. His deep brown eyes are half-lidded, but his pupils are blown wide, “I can’t leave it at that. I don’t know the next time we’ll see each other. You’re too cute.”

_Cute?_

Keith’s been called a lot of things over the years: standoffish, belliegerent, even feral, but _never_ cute. That word is reserved strictly for baby animals and miniature food, not him. Keith isn’t cute.

“I’m not cute.” Keith clarifies as Shiro kisses his forehead, then the tip of his nose, but stops above his lips.

“Can I?” Shiro murmurs against Keith’s parted lips. His voice drops an entire octave when he says, “Keith?”

“Yes.”

Shiro seals their lips together. It starts slow, hesitant. Keith’s not used to kissing, so he tries to mimic what Shiro’s does. As he gets more comfortable, Keith wraps his arms around Shiro’s neck, keeping him close. Shiro’s hands rub along the exposed skin of Keith’s abdomen, grateful for the cropped sweatshirt he has on. He bends down a little to knead the back of Keith’s thighs, a warning before Shiro lifts him up effortlessly to seat him on the hood once more. Keith gasps in surprise, but Shiro swallows it with a kiss, dipping his tongue into Keith’s mouth.

Something primal switches in Shiro’s mind and his hands travel to Keith’s stomach once more. His waist is slender but toned. Fingers splay across the skin, underneath his shirt, and up to his chest. Keith locks his legs around Shiro’s hips, breath uneven, lips shiny. Shiro’s mesmerized by the sounds Keith’s making, the gasps and quiet pants. So honest. So cute. But he can’t help but wonder what would make him moan. Shiro blinks slowly and brushes a thumb just underneath his nipple, applying the slightest amount of pressure--

“Shiro.” Keith calls to get his attention.

His senses return to him and Shiro takes his hands away, he strokes Keith’s cheek as an apology, “Sorry. That was-- I went too far.”

“You caught me off guard,” Keith admits. His scarlet cheeks get even darker, “But… it felt… good.”

_Oh._

Shiro’s thumb slides along Keith’s kissed-stained lips. He notices just how dark and long Keith’s eyelashes were, it made the violet in his eyes that more pronounced. God, he’s absolutely beautiful. Then Keith surprises him in another way. He slips his tongue underneath Shiro’s thumb and licks it before taking it into his mouth. Keith keeps his eyes on Shiro as he takes it deeper, then pulls back with a wet pop. He does the exact same thing with Shiro’s index finger, which is much longer, but with the same ease as his thumb. Keith kisses Shiro's fingertips.

“You’re a tease.” Shiro says after he picks his jaw off the floor.

Keith gets off the hood of the car once more, and smirks, “And _you_ have a sadistic side.”

They kiss one last time before parting ways, and promise to meet again soon. Shiro’s feeling light-headed as he gets behind the drivers side and turns on the engine. Keith leans in the drivers window to steal another kiss, which Shiro happily returns, then waves him off. As he makes his way to his sportsbike, he can’t help but replay the events of the past fifteen minutes over and over again. His helmet hides the flush in his cheeks. Keith can still feel Shiro’s touch even though his hands are no longer there. The ride home is shorter than he realizes. When he gets through the apartment door, Keith remembers that Pidge is spending the weekend with Lance. He can mentally continue his makeout session with Shiro.

_In private._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I now have a curious cat AND a twitter! Ask questions or hurl headcanons at me if you want!  
> CC: https://curiouscat.me/KagayaDaydreams  
> Twitter: @KagayaDaydreams

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! The rating/tags/characters will change as the story progresses.


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